Sadie Silverwood and the Sorcerer's Stone
by acciowritingskills
Summary: (SSW Book 1) Sadie Silverwood is Voldemort's daughter. The wizarding world fears her. The Ministry wants her in Azkaban. Even her godparents, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, resent her. But Sadie is far different from her father, and when she's unexpectedly sorted into Gryffindor and befriends Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger, she might just be able to prove it.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

 _No one in the wizarding world thought Alba Silverwood would have a story to tell. Alba, who would never shine above her elder sister Ora, named for the light she brought to the world. Alba, who lacked the grace of her younger sister Liliana, named for the indescribable beauty only she possessed. Alba, named for the dawn of a new, better world her parents hoped she would help to bring about, but who never seemed to meet these high expectations. Alba, the ordinary one, whom everyone seemed to forget._

 _That is, until she went to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

 _When Professor Minerva McGonagall called "Silverwood, Alba" to the Sorting Hat, everyone in the Great Hall knew what the results would be. The Silverwoods were a pure-blood family, meaning every member was a wizard and had attended Hogwarts. Not one of them had been sorted into anything but Gryffindor house. Their feud with the Malfoys, a rich pure-blood family full of Slytherins, had remained unresolved for centuries. It seemed almost impossible for a Malfoy to be a Gryffindor, let alone a Silverwood be a Slytherin._

 _So, the Gryffindor table sat anticipating the next addition to their house. First years such as "Evans, Lily" couldn't help but smile at the possibility of befriending a fellow Gryffindor. She couldn't imagine "Potter, James," the one Gryffindor she had met, as even an acquaintance—but that's a story for another time._

 _But Alba's Sorting experience was nothing like the world had envisioned. "_ Please don't put me in Gryffindor _," she repeated over and over in her head, hoping the Sorting Hat would hear._ "I want to stand out for once," _she thought._ "I want to be noticed."

 _With this guidance, the Hat delved deep into her mind, curious to find something that would set her apart from her Gryffindor family. It saw how she was cunning enough to always get what she wanted, how she was clever enough to solve any mystery she encountered, and how she was ambitious enough to put her cunning and cleverness to use. And so, after mere seconds of contemplation, the hat bellowed "SLYTHERIN!"_

 _Little did Alba know at the time, her placement in Slytherin would change the course of her life entirely. Her parents, Jasmin and Felix Silverwood, took some time to adjust to her Sorting, but they soon became proud to have a cunning and ambitious daughter. They even thought—hoped, even—it might end their feud with the Malfoys. But that changed soon enough._

 _You might say Alba fell in with the wrong crowd. She became one of the very limited friends of Severus Snape, and joined the gang of Slytherins that Severus may have said he was a part of, but, truth be told, no one invited him. This gang would spend its time bullying Muggle-borns—the wizard children of non-magical beings which the wizarding world referred to as "Muggles"—especially Gryffindors. And the Muggle-born "Evans, Lily," was Alba's main target._

 _But I digress._

 _That Slytherin gang would soon join the army of the infamous Dark Lord Voldemort, who terrorized Muggle-borns across the wizarding world and murdered thousands of Muggles and wizards alike. Alba became one of his most trusted followers._

 _The day Alba became loyal to Lord Voldemort was the day she was disowned forever. Instead of using her cleverness and determination to fight the dark arts like her parents hoped she would, she became a dark wizard herself, and fought her way to the top of the Death Eater ranks. And she became so devoted to Lord Voldemort that, for some godforsaken reason, she fell in love with him. I would've disowned her, too._

 _But Alba is not even the start of our story. This particular tale begins with the daughter of Alba Silverwood and Lord Voldemort himself, Sadie Silverwood._

 _And, just like Alba, Sadie would turn out far differently than anyone ever imagined._


	2. Existence is Both a Blessing and a Curse

**I. Existence Is Both a Blessing and a Curse (but Mostly a Curse)**

"What are you wearing?" Draco eyed my casual outfit with disgust.

"What are _you_ wearing?" I retorted, gesturing to his dress robes. "We're going school shopping in Diagon Alley, not visiting the Minister of Magic."

He brushed my insult aside. "Why'd it take you an _hour_ to get ready?"

"I had to make sure I wasn't wearing two different shades of black."

"I hope you are," he muttered as he grabbed a handful of Floo Powder, stepped into the fireplace, and said "Diagon Alley" in his frustratingly posh voice. I flipped him off as he threw down the powder and disappeared into the flames, and then enjoyed the chance to stand in the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor alone. Even though the place was wretched, I would rather be by myself than with Draco, so I chose to take my sweet time admiring the decor. The walls were painted a pristine off-white, and a glossy marble tile lay beneath my feet. Behind me was an elegant set of French doors that opened to the main hall, which held the magnificent ivory staircase leading to the upper floors. Straight ahead was the front door, painted the same cream color as the walls and decorated by floral patterns. Flames danced around the fireplace, and the glistening glass chandelier dangling from the ceiling added a golden glow to the room. But although the Manor's appearance was stunning, it was an illusion to hide what was going on behind those French doors, what you would see if you climbed that ivory staircase. None of the people living here had shown me an ounce of the Manor's charm. There was no beauty, no love, in this so-called family.

Even the paintings of past Malfoys lining the walls would mutter about how much of a disgrace I was: a Silverwood in a Malfoy house. I had learned from their many conversations that the Malfoys and the Silverwoods were rival families, and the Malfoys resented me for it.

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were, unfortunately enough, my godparents. As far as I knew, my mother had handed me over to them after the downfall of the terrible dark wizard Lord Voldemort and the end of the Wizarding War. But ten years ago, a Killing Curse backfired on him when he attempted to kill the now world-renowned baby Harry Potter, and he remained defeated ever since. Most of Voldemort's army, whom he called the Death Eaters, were rounded up by the Ministry and sent to Azkaban, a dreadful prison for only the most evil of wizards. Lucius and Narcissa used to be two of Voldemort's most loyal Death Eaters, but avoided prison by claiming they were under the Imperius Curse, a cruel form of mind control—and I'm sure they bribed the Minister of Magic, just to flaunt their richness. My mother, on the other hand, knew she had no chance of escape since she was loyal enough to Voldemort to have a child with him.

Did I mention I was Voldemort's daughter? I hope that doesn't change your opinion of me. I'm nothing like him—or the Malfoys. I despise them just as much as they despise me, if not more. They always tended to neglect and ignore me, but when they did pay me some attention, it wasn't friendly. The only reason they let me stay with them is because it's a "service to the Dark Lord" or some rubbish.

The Malfoys considered me a discredit to their name, but once I accepted their opinion would never change, I learned to embrace it. I've always strived to be the opposite of a Malfoy, which is, in essence, what a Silverwood is supposed to be. The Malfoys hated Muggle-borns, so I refused to. Their newspaper of choice was the _Daily Prophet_ , utter government propaganda, so I read the _Quibbler_. They were white, so I wasn't. So on and so forth.

Draco, however, is the ideal son the Malfoys had always hoped for, and I've spent most of my life living in his shadow. There was a time when the two of us were somewhat close, but now we were constantly at each other's throats. Sometimes I wished were still friends, but then I remembered just how much he was like his father, and I went right back to wanting to drive a knife through his chest.

A Slytherin house crest hung from the wall. It depicted a silver serpent on a green background, framed by a silver embellishment. In no less than twenty-three days, I would be attending the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There, I would be sorted into a school house, and Slytherin was the last house I wanted. My parents and every Malfoy in the history of the wizarding world had been a Slytherin. Houses were based on personality traits, so if I were to be a Slytherin, I would be somewhat like them. The sheer thought sickened me.

The only person in the Manor I could stand was Manuel Álvarez, Lucius's private servant. His parents had divorced when his Muggle father found out his mother was a witch, and he hasn't seen his father since. Manuel and his mother moved from Argentina to Britain so he could attend Hogwarts, where he was sorted into Hufflepuff. When I was seven, I found out that the Silverwoods were Hispanic, and since Manuel was fluent in Spanish, I asked him to teach me. He agreed, and throughout our lessons, we became great friends. Nowadays, we would often have private conversations in Spanish—which mainly consisted of our hatred for the Malfoys. Being from a poor family, he could never afford a higher education, and was forced to become a domestic worker for stuck-up rich people who don't pay him anywhere near enough. Unfortunately for him, he lives here, but at least it gave me someone to talk to and more time to practice my Spanish.

The Malfoys, being lazy, also hired a house-elf, Dobby. They pay him even less than Manuel—in fact, they don't pay Dobby a single Knut. Even after the war, house-elves were still treated like slaves. Dobby did all of the chores of the house, while Manuel managed Lucius's life and public image, hosted his parties, and waited on the privileged imbecile hand and foot. I tried to do my own chores to avoid becoming as entitled as the Malfoys, but I had to admit: sometimes it's nice having everything done for you.

I eventually realized I had been wasting too much time on my internal monologue and that Draco would be getting impatient. I hastily stepped into the flames and threw a handful of Floo Powder down at my feet, saying "Diagon Alley" with the cleanest articulation I could muster. After waiting a few seconds, I scrambled out of the fireplace to see a wonderful sight before me.

As glorious as Malfoy Manor was, it was nothing compared to Diagon Alley. It wasn't as brilliant as the mansion I was used to, but it was a place where I felt welcome, and that made it infinitely better. Shops of all shapes and sizes lined the uneven cobblestone road. Through the windows, I could see books, broomsticks, robes, wands, and children my age marvelling at the products. The street was alive with wizards of every age, all of them full of spirit. Plus, my black My Transfigurated Romance shirt matched my black jeans to perfection, just as I had planned. It was too good to be true.

"Took you long enough," Draco complained, snapping me out of my awe.

As we stepped out onto the cobblestone road, the feeling of welcome soon faded away. Once someone caught sight of us, they diverted their eyes and kept their distance. Some little kids gave frightened stares, and some older wizards scowled at me. I didn't blame them. Everyone from a wizarding family knew who I was, and the oddity of my purple eyes only made me more recognizable.

Most, if not all, wizards considered me to be a mini-Voldemort and thought I should be locked away in Azkaban "just in case". It scared me to think that anyone would want to force a child into captivity, but it's such a widespread belief that the _Daily Prophet_ even wrote an article about why I should be arrested. But since I've never done anything remotely interesting, let alone illegal, no one could come up with any charges against me.

Draco didn't seem bothered by the shun, since it wasn't directed at him, but I was. I put my hands in my pockets, kept my head down, and attempted not to make eye contact with anyone near me. I tried to blend in with the crowd, but my strange eye color gave away my identity. So I continued watching my feet, wishing I hadn't lost my sunglasses last month.

Trying to ignore the wizarding world's universal hatred of me, I followed Draco towards a towering marble building with "Gringotts" spelled out in golden letters above its balcony: the wizarding bank. Two smiling goblins wearing suits and Gringotts badges greeted patrons with a warm welcome by the tall double-doors, but when Draco and I reached the bank, they gave no more than a hesitant "come in".

There were more goblins inside: a few attending to patrons from behind their desks, some counting coins, and others helping Muggle-dominated families transfer their money to Knuts, Sickles, and Galleons—the wizard currency. The spacious building was filled with people bustling to and fro, everyone seeming to be in a hurry. Stacks of golden Galleons lined the walls, looking ready to topple over at any moment. Draco and I made our way over to the vaults, and he let out a dramatic sigh when told we had to wait in line like everyone else.

For some reason, Draco was glaring in my direction. After realizing it wasn't directed at me, I asked him what his problem was.

"They shouldn't be here," he whispered to me, nodding to the family transferring money at the station nearest to us: a man and a woman with their daughter, all three with black hair and deep mahogany skin. The father was sitting in a strange black chair with a footrest and two large wheels attached to the bottom, and I suddenly felt jealous that he got to sit down and I didn't. Next to them was a much older woman wearing typical wizarding robes along with a pointed hat. The end pieces of her spectacles stuck out from her bun of golden grey, and the coat of arms on her robes signified that she was from Hogwarts. She was explaining to the parents how our currency worked: there were twenty-nine Knuts in a Sickle, and seventeen Sickles in a Galleon. This must have meant that the girl was a Muggle-born witch my age, and the other lady was escorting her into the wizarding world for the first time.

"And why is that?" I challenged.

"Because, I'm assuming, they're Muggles," he countered without hesitation, "and Muggles don't belong in the wizarding world. They shouldn't be letting _their_ kind into Hogwarts."

"That's a stupid reason," I muttered for lack of a decent comeback as the family turned around.

The girl's brown eyes were filled with wonder and her smile stretched from ear to ear. She seemed to be taking in every detail of Gringotts in amazement as she approached the exit, her mass of curls bouncing off of her shoulders. I couldn't fathom the pure amazement every Muggle-born experienced upon discovering the wizarding world in Diagon Alley. It must be spectacular, having someone show you that a world you thought was fictional was only hiding in plain sight.

The family exited through the glass double doors right when Draco and I were called to enter our vault. After we gave the goblin at the desk the key, he introduced himself as Griphook and escorted us into a small passageway illuminated by torches. Startling me, a mine cart came zooming towards us, gliding on the railroad tracks along the smooth, stone floor. The cart stopped with an abrupt jerk and opened its side doors. Griphook gestured for Draco and I to enter before him, and of course, I was the only one to thank him. We seated ourselves on the comfortable cushioned bench and buckled our seatbelts. Griphook entered next and closed the doors to the cart, settling on the bench across from us. Once we were secure, the cart jolted forward and bolted down the tracks at lightning speed. The tunnel opened up, revealing a series of convoluted railways. The cart weaved its way through the roller coaster of train tracks until we landed at vault five-hundred and thirty-seven, ending the nauseating ride.

"We're here," Griphook announced.

"I realized that," Draco sneered, simply for the sake of being condescending. I felt a familiar urge to slap him, but it wasn't a good time.

The three of us stepped into the spacious vault, which was overflowing with coins and antiques. Various heirlooms and pieces of artwork were scattered around the vault along with stacks of golden Galleons. For the first time, I became aware of just how much money we had. It was far more than we deserved.

Griphook gathered five hundred Galleons' worth of coins for us. Another cart ride later, we were back at the entrance of Gringotts, and I rushed Draco out of the bank. I couldn't wait to get out of Diagon Alley and escape back to the safety of my room. No one stares or whispers when you're alone.

Draco and I spent a good portion of the trip not fighting with each other, which was unusual for us. Still, wherever we went, everyone recognized me.

The only person that works at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions is Madam Malkin, so when she's fitting you into robes, everyone's watching. When I stepped up to the platform, the room fell silent. Madam Malkin let out a little gasp, but began fitting me, her frail hands shaking. I left the minute she was done with a quiet "thank you" and waited for Draco on the bench outside. The crowd inside unfreezed as I left, and every muscle in Madam Malkin's body relaxed. A part of me wanted to apologize for making them afraid, but the rest of my mind knew that their rash judgement brought their fear upon themselves, and I had done nothing wrong.

I watched through the window as Draco chatted with a boy I had never met. His head was covered in a tangle of thick, messy dark hair, and his skin was a golden shade, a bit darker than mine. His bangs covered his forehead, almost covering his circular, thin-rimmed glasses. The boy said about one word for every thirty of Draco's, and the distaste on his face showed he didn't want to be in that conversation. I could tell from the passionate hand gestures that Draco was spewing some of his blatant racism again. I felt so, so sorry for that boy.

As I watched them more, I noticed how scrawny and underfed the boy looked, and how oversized his old clothes were. Hand-me-downs, perhaps? The thought intruded my mind that he was probably poor, but then I realized that was something a rich elitist like Lucius Malfoy would say, so I pushed it away, hoping he hadn't brainwashed me to think like him.

Draco and I went on to buy the required textbooks from Flourish and Blotts, and retrieved potion ingredients at the Apothecary. He ended up buying a broomstick at Quality Quidditch Supplies, even though Hogwarts first years weren't allowed their own. All three shops were uneventful experiences, but just as unpleasant as Madam Malkin's. I would hear whispers: "Did you hear Sadie Silverwood's going to Hogwarts this year?" "They shouldn't let her!" "I'll bet you ten Sickles she gets expelled before classes even start." "At least detention." But the minute they saw me, they shut their mouths. I decided I would try my hardest to never get in trouble, just to spite them. And with a reputation like mine, messing up wasn't an option, was it?

Once we reached the Magical Menagerie, things got interesting again. The shop mainly consisted of owls, cats, and toads, the tolerated pets at Hogwarts, but there were snakes located at the very back of the shop. They were hard to notice at first, yet I was somehow drawn to them. They were one of my favorite animals—second only to foxes—but I felt like I had some sort of spiritual connection to them, as if we were alike in some way. I just didn't know how.

Draco had abandoned me to choose an owl, so I strolled over to the snake habitat and, to my surprise, found the boy Draco was talking with in Madam Malkin's. He was admiring a boomslang snake the same striking emerald color as his eyes.

I contemplated whether or not to talk to him. We were both standing alone, only an air of awkwardness between us. Before, I was afraid that it would be impossible for me to make friends at Hogwarts due to my status, but maybe if I talked to this stranger, I would make a friend before I even got there. I had never been good at initiating conversation, or ending it, or participating in it, but luckily, he started it for me.

"Hogwarts, too?" he asked.

"Yeah, first year," I replied. "You?"

"Same."

I racked my brain for something to talk about. "New to the wizarding world?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"No," I assured him. "It's just the only conversation starter I could think of." _Why did I say that?_

He chuckled. "Well, my parents were wizards, I think, but I live with my aunt and uncle, and they're—can't remember the word, but they're not wizards," he explained.

"You mean Muggles?"

"Yeah, that."

"You're lucky," I said. "I have to live with that blond idiot over there." I nodded to Draco, earning a "shut up, will you?"

"Oh, that guy," the boy muttered. "Wait, you two are _related_?" He took off his thin, round glasses to clean them. I understood his confusion. Draco and I didn't look alike whatsoever. His eyes were a pale, stormy gray and mine were a deep hue of amethyst. His platinum blonde hair was slicked-back in a professional fashion, while my jet black hair was a mess of thick, frizzy waves with the tips faded to purple to match my eyes (Lucius nearly killed me when I dyed it without his permission). His skin was white as ivory, and mine was a rich sand. I always felt so out of place with the Malfoys, like I didn't deserve to stand next to them.

"No, his parents are my godparents. I live with them," I explained. I silently prayed he wouldn't ask what happened to my real parents. What was I supposed to say to that? Oh, my mum's in prison for life and my dad was destroyed by a baby. The usual.

"Oh, your parents must have…" His voice trailed off yet again. "I'm sorry," he finished with haste.

"Don't be. My biological parents weren't that great of people, I've heard… not that my godparents are that great of people either…" I left my thought unfinished, not wanting to dump my entire life onto a stranger when he hasn't even told me his name.

"Neither are my aunt and uncle," he mumbled.

"I'm sorry, too."

"Don't apologize, it's not your fault." He changed the subject. "Oh, and I'm Harry Potter, by the way." He extended his hand.

My jaw must have dropped to the floor. Harry Potter? _The_ Harry Potter? Looking closer, I could see his famed scar hidden beneath his bangs. Just my luck that the one friend I make is destined to be my enemy.

" _You're_ Harry Potter?" I said, a bit in disbelief.

"I guess."

I always imagined Harry Potter to be one of those stuck-up, annoying celebrity types, not some random kid lingering at the back of the Magical Menagerie. _Maybe he's hiding from the press,_ I thought. _Typical of celebrities to consider being fawned over by the paparazzi an inconvenience._

Do I sound jealous? Yeah, maybe I was a bit jealous. But I had every right to be, didn't I? He didn't even do anything to become famous, it was just some magical coincidence. He was just a baby, he didn't _mean_ to make that Killing Curse backfire. Meanwhile, I became notorious because of who my parents were. Both of us were famous because of things we couldn't control, but he was celebrated for it while I was despised.

"Um, I'm Sadie Silverwood," I choked out, shaking his hand, "and I have no connection to Voldemort at all." _Stop. Talking._

"You can't take a snake to Hogwarts, you know," Draco chided in his usual obnoxious tone as he sauntered over to us. He was carrying a cage containing a wise-looking eagle owl, not a single one of its grey feathers ruffled.

"Can't take a broomstick either, but that's not stopping you," I retorted.

"It's a _special arrangement_."

"That's a funny way to pronounce 'against the rules.'"

Draco sighed and drummed his fingers on the counter. "Can you just hurry up and pick an owl already?"

"Fine," I grumbled through gritted teeth. I turned back to Harry and waved goodbye."See you on the train," I said.

"You too." He waved back.

"Women, am I right?" I heard Draco mutter to Harry as I skimmed the large selection of owls. I looked over my shoulder to see Harry give Draco a judgemental look and walk away.

One tawny owl in particular grabbed my attention. Her eyes were the fiery color of autumn leaves, setting her apart from the others—just like my eyes did. I reached up to pet her head. She let out a soft coo, but with her young, bright face, it sounded just like a baby's laugh. She was the perfect choice.

I paid ten Galleons for the owl, and left with Draco to go to the wand shop, Ollivander's. Ollivander's was on the other side of Diagon Alley, so I used the long walk to give Draco the lecture he deserved.

"You need to shut up, you know." I immediately wished I had said something much wittier.

"Oh, thank you so much for that insightful advice," Draco mocked.

"What you said at Gringotts about Muggle-borns not belonging here—"

"For the millionth time," he interjected, teeth gritted, "As far as I'm concerned, Mudbloods are no different from Muggles themselves."

"I'll willing to bet every Galleon in our vault that _Muggle-borns_ ," I emphasized the correct term, "are just as competent of wizards as you are—dare I say even more competent—so they have just as much of a right to be here as we do."

He rolled his eyes. "Don't start with this—"

"You know who was a Muggle-born?"

He sighed and gritted his teeth. "Who?"

"Donaghan Tremlett."

He replied with a baffled look.

"Donaghan Tremlett," I repeated. "The bass player for the Weird Sisters."

"That sounds like the exact job description of an incompetent wizard," Draco retorted. "Can you name one Muggle-born that's actually contributed anything to history?"

"Music is very important to history," I scoffed, offended. "But if you don't think so, then…" I couldn't think of any Muggle-borns Draco would deem "important." The history books I had read never talked much about their impact on the wizarding world, not even the discrimination they face. A few books did have whole chapters on Muggle-borns, but the pages were always ripped out. Lucius had eradicated any mention of Muggle-borns in his good pure-blood library.

"Oh, can't think of anyone, can you?" he teased. "That's what I thought."

"But that's only because _gilipollas_ like you and your parents try to erase them from wizard history!"

He stopped and stared at me. "What did you just call me?"

"A… wonderful person," I lied. I loved to use Spanish as a weapon against English-only speakers. "Come on." I quickened my stride, forcing him to keep up.

"I don't get it," Draco said.

"Get what?"

"You're the daughter of two people who killed _Mudbloods_ for sport," he reminded me. "Aren't you supposed to agree with them?"

"I'll kill _you_ for sport if you don't stop being such a racist prick—"

"Ow!" a voice cried as I, distracted by my scolding of Draco, bumped into them and sent their books flying.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry…" I apologized repeatedly. I caught sight of the person I'd run into and identified her as the girl with the curly hair from Gringotts.

"It's my fault, I wasn't paying attention—" she reassured me, but I cut her off.

"No, I wasn't either. Here, let me help you with tha—"

"No," Draco cut in. "Let the Mudblood do it herself," he mocked, turning a few heads. A short moment of silence ensued.

"Don't call her that," I retorted before bending down to help the girl gather her belongings. Most of the books weren't even from the school supplies list. There were books about the Voldemort and the Wizarding War, about the history of Hogwarts, every topic you could name. I wondered how the girl was ever going to read them all.

I forced a smile as I handed her every last book. "Here you go. Sorry about that."

"It's fine, really," she said, stuffing her things back in her bag. "I'm Hermione Granger, by the way."

"I'm Sadie…" I trailed off. "You know what, my last name's not important. See you at Hogwarts, I guess?"

"Yeah. Nice meeting you!"

"You too!" I gave her a friendly smile and a wave.

Draco and I began to walk away, but the girl's father, still in the strange chair, didn't let us off that easy.

"What was that you called my daughter?" His dark brown eyes were fixed on Draco, filled with anger. "'Mudblood'?" He seemed to have figured out that "Mudblood" was a slur of some kind.

Draco smirked, supremacy dancing in his eyes. "It's what she is."

"Do you _ever_ shut up?" I snapped, my face on fire.

The woman who looked to be from Hogwarts stepped forward, and I knew Draco was in trouble now. "I assume you know that derogatory terminology such as that will not be tolerated at Hogwarts," she scolded, fury showing through her thick Scottish accent. "I'll be sure to teach you how to control your magic as well as your tongue," she snapped, then led the family away without another word. As soon as she was out of earshot, I burst out laughing.

"This is why you should listen to me," I said to Draco, making him smack me on the arm with a grimace. I reveled at the fact he was in trouble before school even started.

I turned to offer the girl an apologetic smile, but she was long gone. I couldn't help but regret the encounter. Soon enough, she would find out what the word "Mudblood" meant, and would understand that in this world she was so fascinated by, she was considered inferior. And she would be devastated.

I shook the thought away when we reached a quaint little shop and run by an elderly man with smiling blue eyes and a kind face. His heap of cloud-white hair stuck out in a disheveled, but confined manner, and he wore a messy suit with a crooked tie. I recognized him as Garrick Ollivander, the best wandmaker in all of Europe, and of course, whom the store was named after.

The shop was seemed tiny upon first glance, but if you looked behind Ollivander's desk, you would see dozens of shelves of beautiful wands, each one more remarkable than the last. I admired Ollivander for having the patience and ability to handcraft them all. Bookshelves filled with writings on wandlore lined the walls on either side of me. Even though I had never been interested in the making of wands, the peaceful atmosphere of the shop made me want to read every book on the shelf.

Ollivander rose from his seat to welcome us, but once he saw me, his friendly face was replaced by astonishment. His eyes widened in surprise and his hands started to tremble.

"How might I help you two today?" he asked with a faint quiver in his voice.

"We want wands, obviously, or we wouldn't be here," snapped Draco, who was in a particularly snarky mood today.

Draco walked up to his desk with confidence, and after three or four failures, Ollivander found a wand that worked for him. Ollivander described it as ten inches with hawthorn wood and unicorn hair. I knew that the shorter your wand was, the more you were lacking in character. This meant, to my amusement, that Draco had a way to go.

It was my turn to find a wand next. Ollivander had me test out each wand by giving it a small flick in the direction of a pillow behind the desk. Whenever I did so, sparks would be released from the tip, sometimes having disastrous results. I caused quite a few small explosions before finding a match, but Ollivander assured me that he had seen worse.

I had about twice as many failures as Draco, but it was worth it for the wand that chose me. Ollivander informed me it was thirteen and a half inches (I was very proud of myself for that) and made from holly wood and unicorn hair. A clear, crystal-like substance coiled around the caramel brown wood, adding to its beauty.

"Holly is rare for wand wood," Ollivander babbled. "It tends to make very protective wands, and so does unicorn hair. This particular wand will form a strong bond with you, I believe, for the wand chooses the wizard, of course. Unicorn hair also makes for powerful wands. They're superb at all kinds of magic, well, not so good for the dark arts… strange it chose you then…" His eyebrows shot up in alarm as he realized what he said. I didn't want to glare and make him even more uncomfortable, so I slammed seven Galleons on his desk with much more anger than I had intended, and hurried out the door.

"I hate being your brother sometimes," Draco muttered once we were outside.

"And I hate being your sister all the time," I said with fake enthusiasm.

"Everyone's so scared of you," he continued. "You're ruining my reputation. How am I supposed to survive Hogwarts with _you_ as a sister?"

I didn't answer. Instead, I contemplated how _I_ was supposed to survive Hogwarts with _me_ as a self. How am I going to make friends, or be on good terms with teachers, or at least get people to not tremble in fear every time they saw me? How will I fit in at all?

How am I supposed to prove that I'm not the monster everyone makes me out to be?


	3. I Really Suck at Making Friends

**Warning: short physical child abuse scene (just a sentence or two)**

 **II. I Really Suck at Making Friends**

It was almost time to leave for Hogwarts, and I couldn't be more nervous. Who would I sit with on the train? The only people I knew were Hermione Granger, whom I had made a bad impression on, Harry Potter, my parents' worst enemy, and Draco, whom I would never willingly walk within a five-mile radius of in a million years. The choices weren't looking too great.

I hadn't eaten anything that morning, knowing that I would just throw it back up. Lunch was usually the only meal I ate anyway. In the Manor, you either eat at the scheduled meal times or you don't eat at all, and I would rather starve than spend more time than necessary with insufferable snobs. Breakfast was the shortest meal, but it required me to get up in the A.M. hours, so I chose to attend lunch instead. But today, I couldn't stomach a single crumb, not even lunch.

And so, I packed my suitcase and waited in the library, contemplating the worst-case scenarios. I could have no one to sit with—no, someone would have to sit next to me or else they wouldn't have a seat. Hermione could hate me after I bumped into her in Diagon Alley—no, she was apologetic and seemed friendly enough. I could get sorted into Slytherin—I had no self-reassurance for that one.

My fantasies were only adding to my anxiety, so I determined I needed something to distract myself. I could use a good laugh, so I searched the shelves for Gilderoy Lockhart's biography, _Magical Me_. Once I found it, I immediately felt better. Just the sight of his dumb smile and fake toupee on the cover cracked me up.

I was looking through the photo album in the back when Manuel walked in.

"There you are!" he exclaimed in Spanish, his thick Argentinian accent evident. "What's so funny?"

I showed him the cover and he burst out into laughter.

"Are you ready for Hogwarts?" he asked once he regained his composure.

"Not in the slightest," I replied in Spanish, my nerves resurfacing. "Manuel, what if I'm sorted into Slytherin?"

"I'd still love you," he teased.

"But I'd be in the same house as my parents and the Malfoys," I worried, "and I don't want to turn out like them."

"Not every Slytherin is an rich son of a bitch, Sadie," he said. Sorry to disappoint, but that doesn't rhyme in Spanish. "Like the Potions professor at Hogwarts. He was one of my favorites, even though I was in Hufflepuff and he was the Head of Slytherin. I looked up to him a lot, actually."

"You did?" I inquired.

"Of course," he chuckled. "He was intelligent, kind, and very talented. And he made an effort to connect with the students. We all loved him." My excitement for Potions class tripled. "And they're not _all_ racist either. Like Mrs. Malfoy's sister, Andromeda, she was a Slytherin, yet she married a Muggle-born Hufflepuff. I think you'd like her, she was disowned and everything." I did think I'd like her.

"Trust me, Sadie," Manuel continued, putting a comforting hand on my shoulder, "whatever house you end up in, I'm sure you'll be the best in your class."

I offered a fake smile. As if.

"Now, come on," Manuel said. "They're waiting for you."

I grabbed my trunk and my owl, whom I had named Firefly for her orange eyes, and followed Manuel to the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor. I reflexively tensed up and quickened my pace as I saw Lucius glaring at me. When I reached him, he slapped me hard against the cheek, leaving a painful sting. Tears threatened to spill, but I held them back. I wasn't going to give him the reaction he wanted.

"Don't keep me waiting again," he ordered. "Understood?"

"Yes, sir," I mumbled, rubbing my cheek where he had slapped me.

Since the Malfoys refused to use Muggle transportation, we teleported into King's Cross through Apparation. The floor dissolved beneath my feet. My eyes were closed, yet I could still feel myself spiraling until smooth tile reappeared below me. I opened my eyes to find myself in a blurry, tunnel-shaped enclosure. Once the room stopped spinning, I could make out hundreds of people bustling through the station and waiting for their train by rusty railroad tracks. The sound of suitcases bumping across the floor and dozens of voices filled the air. The walls and floor were painted a dull grey, but the sunlight slipping through the skylight made the tiles glisten. I looked over to see if Draco's head had been ripped off in the process of Apparation, but unfortunately, he was still alive and well.

A few Muggles stared at our owls with curious expressions as we pushed our trolleys to platform nine and three-quarters, the hidden gateway to the Hogwarts Express. Luckily, the security didn't mind. Strange people passing through at the beginning of the school year wasn't a foreign concept to them.

As we approached the platform, we encountered a large family of two parents and five children being rushed along by their mother, all of them with pale, freckled skin and fiery red hair. Behind them stood none other than Harry Potter, lost and confused. He might have never even heard of platform nine and three-quarters since he grew up in the Muggle word. I wanted to help him, but Lucius and Narcissa would kill me if they found out I befriended Harry Potter. Considering their Death Eater history, they hated him with a burning passion, and I didn't want another slap to the face.

"COME ON, WE NEED TO GET TO PLATFORM NINE AND THREE-QUARTERS!" the mother shouted. "HURRY ALONG, YOU ALL, OR WE'LL MISS THE HOGWARTS EXPRESS!" Harry eventually seemed to figure out they were wizards and followed them. The Malfoys and I continued pushing our trolleys to the platform, but we kept our distance from Harry and the family.

I heard Harry ask if they knew where to find platform nine and three-quarters, to which the mother responded, "Follow us, dear, that's where we're headed!" She must have seen the anxious look on his face, because she added, "Don't be nervous, dear! It's Ron's first time at Hogwarts, too." She gestured to the youngest of the brothers.

"Percy, would you show him how to get to the platform?" she requested from a mature-looking boy with a golden badge pinned onto his shirt. His posture was perfect, and not a strand of hair was out of place. For a moment, he reminded me of Draco, and it took all I had to not hate him at first sight. Percy pushed his trolley at running speed and, startling Harry, vanished into the dividing barrier between platforms nine and ten.

"Fred, you next," she said to one of two identical twins.

"I'm not Fred, he's Fred!" He gestured to the other.

"And you call yourself our mother," said the second twin.

The mother let out an exasperated sigh. "Oh, I'm sorry, _George_ , just go on or we'll be late!" she urged.

The first grabbed his trolley. "Actually, I _am_ Fred," he laughed, and ran into the wall as fast as possible, no doubt to avoid being scolded by his mother. George followed close behind. To tell them apart, I made a mental note that George's smile was a bit lopsided, and Fred's was symmetrical. And Fred's hair stood up a bit more. But despite their differences, I couldn't help but see myself in both of them.

Ron went next, followed by a tiny girl who looked too young to attend Hogwarts. Their mother then explained to a stunned Harry how to access the hidden platform. After watching Harry make it through safely, she ran into the wall herself.

Then, it was our chance to enter platform nine and three-quarters. I volunteered to go first so that I could separate myself from the Malfoys and find Harry. As long as he didn't know who I was, we could be great friends. I would have to savor it while it lasts.

I remembered the redheaded mother's words: "You have to run at it with no fear in your mind, or else you'll crash." I took a deep breath in and imagined myself disappearing into the bricks with ease. I closed my eyes, and after less than a dozen running steps, I found myself inside platform nine and three-quarters.

The platform was much more spacious and pleasant than the Muggle train station. The sight of it made me forget my mission to find Harry. The railroad tracks were a sleek silver, lacking even a hint of rust. The walls weren't a dull gray, but a calming baby blue, and the floor was an elegant white. There was no skylight; the place shone on its own.

Witches and wizards of every sort filled the area, and not one of them seemed stressed or had to shout over each other to communicate. A few older wizards wore cloaks and hats, most parents wore dressy clothing, and kids wore jeans and t-shirts they had probably thrown together in five minutes, like me. I had to get up at 10:00 A.M. that day, and I was _not_ a morning person.

I heard the three Malfoys arrive behind me, so I left their vicinity as quickly as I could. They wouldn't miss me.

"Oh, look at you! My only child, going off to Hogwarts!" Narcissa praised, beaming at her son. She was wearing a dress for the occasion and a full face of makeup, framed by her blonde waves. Lucius simply stared at Draco with a twisted smile of approval plastered on his face, his special way of showing sentiment. He was wearing his nicest set of dress robes, and his long blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail complete with a bow. I was sure that if only I was going to Hogwarts, neither of them would have put as much effort into their appearances. In their minds, I had already ruined their image beyond fixing.

As I watched the scene from afar, jealousy got the best of me. It tormented me to think they didn't consider me a child, too. I tried to imagine that Narcissa's praise and Lucius's twisted smile of approval were for me, but it only made me crave their affection more. In that moment, it didn't matter that the Malfoys were wretched people. I just wanted what Draco had handed to him every day of his spoiled, luxurious life: love. Acknowledgement. Was that too much to ask?

And don't get me wrong, it's not like I _wanted_ Voldemort and my mother back; I doubt they'd care much about me either. I simply wanted to swap places with any of the happy children in the platform, even just for a moment. It may have been selfish to wish my position upon someone else, but sometimes I thought that all those people who made my life a living hell deserved to spend a day in my shoes.

Lucius and Narcissa didn't seem to notice I'd abandoned them, but Draco did. When he noticed me, his eyes flickered with a hint of—guilt? Did he feel _bad_ for me? Maybe there was a side to him that wasn't despicable. Or maybe I was hallucinating. I figured it was the latter.

At last, the magnificent Hogwarts Express pulled in. Parents, including Narcissa, kissed their children goodbye before they could escape onto the train. I saw a parentless Harry walking toward the train by himself, making me feel a bit less alone. Fred and George rushed over to help him with his luggage. I set off to join them, but by the time I reached the train, they had already disappeared inside. With one last look at the Malfoys, I entered the train and pulled my suitcase and the cage containing my owl along the corridor between compartments. After a bit of searching, I found Harry staring out the window, sitting in a compartment with no one but his owl. His grim expression was all too familiar. He, like me, wished he had caring parents to kiss him on the forehead and say they'll miss him. Like me, he hated seeing all the people out in the crowd with a family.

"Can I sit with you?" I asked with hesitance. The loneliness left his face as he nodded and motioned for me to take the seat across from him.

"Sadie, right?" His questioning of my name reminded me there were some people here who weren't familiar with me, and wouldn't try to avoid me. The thought reduced my nerves a bit.

"Yeah. And you're Harry?" I asked, attempting to make him feel normal as well.

"I know you know my name," he replied, "but thanks for the effort."

I sighed. "So, how are you liking the wizarding world so far?"

"It's, well, magical." He let out a slight chuckle.

"Yeah, that's kind of our whole thing," I laughed. "Just wait till we get to Hogwarts. It's supposed to be beautiful."

"You know, you're a lot less… what's the word I'm looking for?… hateable than your brother."

"Oh, I'm aware," I said. "Malfoys tend to be that way."

"What's a Malfoy?" A snarky grin appeared on his face. "Some sort of troll?"

"Of sorts, yes," I said, grinning back. "It's my godparents' surname. They're a super old and rich family and think that fact puts them above everyone else."

We were interrupted by the squeak of our compartment door opening."Can I sit here?" a voice asked. "Everywhere else is full." We looked up to see the freckled redhead Ron looking down at us. We both mumbled some form of "go ahead" and he closed the compartment door and sat next to Harry.

"I'm Ron Weasley," he introduced himself.

"Harry Potter," Harry said.

" _Harry Potter_?!" Ron exclaimed, his eyes widening in admiration. "But that means you're… you're Harry Potter!"

"I would think it does."

Fortunately, another creak from the door stopped our conversation before Ron could ask for my name. This time, it was Draco, accompanied by his 'friends' Crabbe and Goyle. They weren't so much friends as bodyguards for Draco, who wouldn't still be alive without them. Crabbe and Goyle were both a couple heads taller than him, but somehow had no room in their oversized heads for a brain. Even Draco was somewhat smart; I'd give him that much.

"What are _you_ doing here?" I scowled, resting my feet on the seat to show they weren't welcome to sit.

"Everyone's saying Harry Potter's in this compartment." He looked past me and Ron, his eyes landing on Harry. "So is it true? Are you really him?"

"Yeah," Harry mumbled.

"Wow," Draco marveled. "Well, they're Crabbe and Goyle." He gestured to the two figures towering over him without looking back at them. "And I'm Draco. Draco Malfoy."

Ron attempted to hide a laugh with a cough, but to no avail.

"Think my name's funny, do you?" Draco sneered.

"It is," I jumped in, but he ignored me.

"Oh, I know who you are," he said to Ron, glaring. "Red hair? Freckles? Hand-me-down robes? Father told me all about you. You must be a _Weasley_ ," he mocked, making Ron turn as red as his flaming hair. I resisted the impulse to throw Draco out of the window.

"Go piss off a hippogriff, _pendejo_ ," I snapped.

He ignored me, as usual, and turned back to Harry. "You'll find some wizards are better than others. You don't want to go making friends with the _wrong_ sort," he said, glancing between me and Ron. "I can help you there."

He extended a hand, but Harry didn't take it. "I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks."

This train ride was getting better and better.

A flustered Draco stared at me for help with a comeback, knowing Crabbe and Goyle weren't great with words. I raised an eyebrow to remind him that we hated each other, and he shut the compartment door with a bang and sulked away, defeated.

"That was amazing," I told Harry as the train lurched forward. I turned to Ron. "Sorry about my godbrother. He's an arse."

"Your _godbrother_?" Ron's jaw dropped. "But that makes you… your _eyes_ … you're…"

Oh, right, I forgot the entire wizarding world hated me.

Ron was from a wizarding family. He must have recognized me. And if he didn't before, he did now, because everyone knew the Malfoys were my godparents. I diverted my frustratingly recognizable eyes to the rolling hills outside the window so I wouldn't have to see his terrified face.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked.

" _Do you know who she is?_ " Ron whisper-shouted.

"Yeah, her name's Sadie—"

"No, no, do you know who her father is?"

"No, who?"

"Y-You-Know-Who."

"No, I don't know who, actually. That's why I asked." I sighed at Harry's cluelessness, wanting to get this big reveal over with. He was going to find out sooner or later, so it might as well be sooner.

Ron rapidly shook his head. "No, no, no, You-Know-Who, as in He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!"

"V-Voldemort?!" Harry stammered. I winced as he stared at me in disbelief. "You're Voldemort's daughter?"

"Don't say the name!" Ron interjected.

"It's only a name—"

"Just don't say it!"

"Fine, fine," Harry said, putting his hands up. He turned back to me. "You lied to me."

"I didn't lie!" I defended.

"You said you had no connection to Voldemort at all."

I did say that, didn't I?

"I panicked, okay?" I retorted. "And what was I supposed to say? 'My name is Sadie Silverwood, you killed my father, prepare to die'?"

"Are you following me?"

"What?"

"You expect me to believe the daughter of the person who murdered my parents walked into the _same_ store as me at the _same_ time by _coincidence_?"

"Yes, because it _was_ —"

"No, it wasn't!" Harry argued. "You're following me, trying to get close to me so you can help Vol—You-Know-Who finish whatever crazy things he started—"

"That's not true at all!" I felt myself blushing. "I didn't know you were Harry Potter when I first met you! Look, I'm too lazy to brush my hair in the morning; do you really think I'm dedicated enough to carry out a murder?"

"Well, now I know you're lying, because your hair looks _on point_."

"Well, I had to leave my room today; that's different," I explained. "And thanks. But look, it's not my fault I'm his daughter. And it doesn't mean I'm like him! What did I ever do to you? Nothing! So why are you accusing me of things I'd never dream of?"

Ron and Harry exchanged sour looks, and I realized I hadn't made myself more likeable.

"Harry, maybe we should switch compartments," Ron urged, and the two of them stood up to leave. At first, I didn't protest, but then, I realized what I was letting go. These were my only potential friends, and I couldn't rely on the possibility that someone else might come along. I had to keep them in this compartment until they liked me.

"Funny," I began casually, "I thought everywhere else was full." Harry and Ron exchanged bitter looks and took their seats again.

"You never answered my question," I added, trying to hide my triumphant smirk.

"What question?" Harry said.

"The one about why you're accusing me of being a serial killer when I've committed a grand total of zero crimes."

"Well, you were arrested before, weren't you?" Ron retorted, making Harry's eye widen. "I mean, they didn't arrest you for nothing. And the _Daily Prophet_ said you bribed your way out of it." Leave it to the papers to twist the facts and make me look like a criminal.

"You mean the _Daily Propaganda_?" I retorted. "They _did_ arrest me for nothing, thank you very much. I was buying the newest broomstick, and the Ministry arrested my innocent _seven-year-old_ self right in the middle of the store. It was terrifying. So I asked for a trial, and they tried to make me slip up about some awful thing I've done. But they had to give up because, surprise surprise, I've never done anything against the law in my life. I didn't bribe my way out of anything."

"That's kind of ridiculous," Harry mumbled, shifting in his seat.

 _We're making progress_ , I thought.

"Exactly!" I exclaimed. "I was seven! What were they thinking?"

"Yeah," Harry said, processing the conflicting perspectives on who I am.

"She's probably lying, Harry," Ron said.

Harry paused. "But what if she's not?"

"What?!"

"I mean, if she hasn't done anything—"

"But she has!" Ron urged. "She has to have done _something_ , or at least be planning on it! She's You-Know-Who's daughter, for Merlin's sake!"

"Do we have any proof that I'm his daughter, though?" I challenged.

"You're just grasping at straws now," said Ron, who wasn't entirely wrong. "Didn't your mum admit to it when she was sent to Azkaban?"

"Let me believe," I muttered. "Just name one bad thing I've done. Besides existing."

Ron furrowed his brow, thinking. "Like… well… there was that time when you… um…"

I let out a chuckle. "See? You can't do it."

"Well, uh…" Ron began his unintelligible stammering once again. "Fine, I can't! But who cares about the technicalities?"

"Well, as someone who's been hated her entire life and heard hundreds of death threats," I began, "I happen to care a lot about the technicalities."

"Okay, okay, sorry," Ron said without sincerity. Before he could criticize me any further, the compartment door slid open.

"Have any of you seen a toad?" A frazzled Hermione Granger stood in the doorway. "A boy named Neville's lost his."

We all shook our heads no.

"Oh, are you doing magic?" she said, looking at the wand in Ron's lap.

Ron blushed. "Well—"

"Let's see it then!" She sat down next to me as Ron raised his wand and took a rat out of his pocket. I would have scolded him for treating his pet so cruelly, but he started reciting a spell before I could speak.

"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow!"

He flicked his wand, but nothing happened.

"I don't think that's a real spell," I said.

"And if it is, it's not a very good one," Hermione rambled. "I've tried a few spells for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, so it was such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course! I mean, it's the best school of witchcraft out there, I've heard… Oh, and I've learned all our course books by heart. I just hope it'll be enough. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"

Ron and Harry introduced themselves. She started rambling again before I could do the same.

"Oh, are you really Harry Potter? I've read all about you! You're in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_! And you're Sadie, right?" she said to me. I worried that I might have been in one of those books. That would only make _another_ bad impression on her.

"Sadie Silverwood," I mumbled.

Hermione's smile faded. "Oh, I've read about you, too…" She trailed off as she scooted down the seat, putting some space between us. Her face lit up again as she changed the subject. "What house are you going to be in? I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best, and the headmaster Professor Dumbledore himself was in it! I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad… Anyways, you'd better change, I'll expect we'll be there soon. Also, you've got dirt on your nose, did you know?" she said to Ron. She exited the compartment before we could begin to answer her hundreds of questions. I promised myself I would apologize to her for what happened in Diagon Alley later.

"Whatever house she's in, I hope it's not mine," Ron grumbled.

"Why not? She seems nice." I defended.

"She seems like a know-it-all!"

"She's just excited!"

"I hope _you_ aren't in my house either," Ron muttered. I looked away once again.

"What house were your brothers in, Ron?" Harry interjected, changing the subject.

"Gryffindor. Every one of them. Mum and Dad were, too. I don't know what they'd say if I'm not. Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff wouldn't be too bad, I guess, but imagine if I'm put into Slytherin!"

"I'd rather be expelled!" I exclaimed. Ron just stared back.

"But that's the house that Vol—your father was in, wasn't it?" Harry questioned.

"Yeah, that's why I don't want to be in it." Now I had confused Harry, too.

A cacophonous clatter outside the compartment put our argument to an end. "Anything from the trolley, dears?" asked an old woman pushing a cart full of candy.

Ron turned pink and looked longingly at the cart, and I discovered the key to winning him over: food. I took a handful of coins out of my wallet and said: "One of each, please." He gaped at the pile of Sickles in my hand as I handed it to the lady, and she gathered one of each item from the cart for us.

"Go on, have some," I said, popping some Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans in my mouth. "I'm not going to eat all of this myself."

"Fine, maybe you're not _that_ bad," Ron admitted, taking a chocolate frog from the stack. Every chocolate frog package came with a card of a famous person, and every wizard loved to collect them.

Ron looked at the card on the package. "Oh, it's Merlin, I have a million of him."

"Can I have it, then?" I asked, hopeful. "He's the only one I'm missing."

"Really?" Ron questioned. "He's supposed to be the most common card."

"I have awful luck."

"Take it, then, I don't need it." Ron handed me the card, and I smiled. After all these years, my collection was complete.

Harry took a chocolate frog too, only to have it escape its package and jump out of the window. Ron and I chuckled as Albus Dumbledore's face disappeared from the card.

"You can't expect him to stay around long," Ron joked in response to Harry's shocked face.

"Well, in the Muggle world, people stay still in photos," Harry said.

"Weird," Ron replied. I tried to nod my head in agreement as I gagged on a rotten egg-flavored jelly bean.

"What's your Quidditch team?" I asked Harry.

"What's Quidditch?"

" _What's Quidditch?_ " Ron and I repeated in astonishment before launching into a full explanation of the wonderful sport. There were four balls: a Quaffle, two Bludgers, and the Golden Snitch. Each team had seven players: one Keeper, two Beaters, three Chasers, and one Seeker. Every player flew on their own broomstick during the game. The Chasers could score ten points a piece by throwing the Quaffle into the goal guarded by the opposing team's Keeper. The Beaters use bats to keep Bludgers away from their teammates and instead aim them at the opposing team to prevent them from scoring. The Seeker is arguably the most important role in a game of Quidditch, because without them, the game would go on forever. A Quidditch match ends when one of the Seekers catches the Golden Snitch, which is worth one hundred and fifty points. Usually, this secures a victory for the Seeker's team. Each of the four houses at Hogwarts had a Quidditch team and competed against each other throughout the year.

"So, it's basically a mixture of football and basketball, but while flying?" Harry asked. Not knowing what either football or basketball were, Ron and I just smiled and nodded.

It seemed as if mere minutes had passed by the time we neared Hogwarts. The three of us rushed to dress in our Hogwarts robes and finish our snacks. The conductor told us to leave our luggage on the train, so we did as we were told and exited into the Hogwarts ground.

"Firs' years! Firs' years! C'mon, follow me!" a rough voice called. I discovered it was coming from a rugged man who must have been three times our size. His scraggly brown beard and hair fell down to his chest, and his welcoming smile never dimmed.

"That's Hagrid," Harry said to Ron and I.

"You know him?" I asked.

"Yeah, he broke into my house and gave me a cake." I didn't ask any further questions.

We followed him down a narrow dirt path, surrounded by a thick forest of bushes and pine trees. When the path reached a clearing, it led us to a vast, black lake, and on the other side lay a magnificent castle.

A chorus of "Ooohs!" rang around us, including my own. Hogwarts was just as stunning as I overheard Lucius describe. The enormous castle towered over the lake, and its numerous towers stretched towards the sky. Golden light streamed through its windows, shining brighter than the stars. It was mesmerizing.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called out, pointing to a series of canoes in the lake. Harry, Ron, and I took a boat for ourselves. We glided on the smooth water, the boat guiding itself through the rocky black cliffs, until we finally landed at the door of the castle.

Hagrid turned to us, beaming. "Welcome to Hogwarts."


	4. The Unexpected Happens

**III. The Unexpected Happens and I'm Not Sure Whether It's a Good Thing or Not**

The door swung open to reveal the woman who scolded Draco in Diagon Alley.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid said.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I'll take them from here."

She led us through a small foyer and opened a set of silver doors at its end to show us into the entrance hall. A marble staircase with red carpeting stretched to another set of shining double doors, decorated with golden flourishes. We heard voices from the other side of the wall as we stood huddled together, both nervous and excited. But the whimsical mood shattered when a toad hopped in front of us and a chubby, pale boy cried out "TREVOR!" Professor McGonagall shot him a judgemental look as he went to pick up his toad, but snapped back to her professional presence for her opening speech.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into houses. You will have classes with your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room. Your house will become your family. The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose them. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school," she continued. "I suggest you smarten yourselves up as much as you can during the wait."

"How are they planning on placing us?" asked Harry.

"Some sort of test, I think," Ron answered. "Fred and George said it hurts, but I think they're just trying to scare me."

I knew exactly how the Sorting worked. An enchanted hat called the Sorting Hat looks into your mind and thoughts to determine your best qualities. Then, it places you in a house based on your traits: Gryffindor for courage and honor, Slytherin for cunning and ambition, Ravenclaw for wisdom and wit, and Hufflepuff for loyalty and faith. Some say that you're sorted based on the qualities you desire rather than the qualities you have, a theory I loved. But, since Harry and Ron hated know-it-alls and I had just barely won them over, I decided not to explain the Sorting.

"Now, follow me," Professor McGonagall instructed. "This is the Great Hall."

She pulled open the door to display a glorious sight. The Great Hall could have fit ten Malfoy Manors and still have room left over. Every inch of the hall was shining with beauty, and the decor was dazzling. The enchanted ceiling was a deep bluish-black speckled with stars, a flawless imitation of the night sky. Candles floated in midair, adding a golden glow to the beige walls. Golden plates and glittering goblets decorated four long tables filled with smiling students, which I assumed represented each house. We marvelled at the ghosts floating through the hall, who occasionally stopped for a chat with the living. The place made me feel at home the moment I walked in, something the Manor had never accomplished.

A small staircase led to a stage-like platform filled with teachers, and in front of them was a battered witch's hat with creases that imitated eyes and a mouth: the Sorting Hat. Everyone turned to watch as McGonagall led us to the stage, but their attention switched to the hat when it began to sing:

" _Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_

 _But don't judge on what you see,_

 _I'll eat myself if you can find_

 _A smarter hat than me._

 _You can keep your bowlers black,_

 _Your top hats sleek and tall,_

 _For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

 _And I can cap them all._

 _There's nothing hidden in your head_

 _The Sorting Hat can't see,_

 _So try me on and I will tell you_

 _Where you ought to be._

 _You might belong in Gryffindor,_

 _Where dwell the brave at heart_

 _Their daring nerve and chivalry_

 _Set Gryffindors apart;_

 _You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

 _Where they are just and loyal,_

 _Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

 _And unafraid of toil;_

 _Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

 _If you've a ready mind,_

 _Where those of wit and learning,_

 _Will always find their kind;_

 _Or perhaps in Slytherin_

 _You'll make your real friends,_

 _Those cunning folk use any means_

 _To achieve their ends._

 _So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

 _And don't get in a flap!_

 _You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

 _For I'm a Thinking Cap!"_

The audience's applause became more and more distant as my mind drifted off in thought. It wasn't hard to predict what would happen tonight.

I had heard that every Silverwood had been in Gryffindor, my mother being the only exception. Gryffindor was the rival house of Slytherin and not only represented bravery, but also nobility and loyalty. These qualities made Gryffindor my dream house, especially since it would disassociate me from the Malfoys and my real parents. I could become everything they weren't. But where else was Voldemort's daughter supposed to go other than Slytherin? Certainly not Gryffindor. Ravenclaw wasn't an option, considering my extreme lack of rational judgement. And I couldn't be a Hufflepuff—it's hard to stay faithful, loyal, and kind to your friends when you don't have any.

Draco would be sorted in Slytherin, too, just as every Malfoy had been for centuries. The thought that I would have to suffer spending every waking hour with him sickened me. I couldn't shut myself in my room for days, or go out into the garden and draw. No, I'd have to go to class with him, share a common room, and breathe the same air twenty-four-seven. I might have physically escaped Lucius and Narcissa, but with Draco here, they weren't far at all.

My mind snapped back into reality when McGonagall called the first name.

"Abbott, Hannah!"

A blonde girl stumbled out of the line and placed the hat on her head. It fell below her eyes as it paused in contemplation.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

One table filled with students in black robes lined with yellow burst into applause. Hannah took her seat at the table as the ghost next to it beamed at her.

The more names were called, the more nervous I became. Susan Bones became a Hufflepuff, Terry Boot and Mandy Brocklehurst went in Ravenclaw, Lavender Brown in Gryffindor, Millicent Bulstrode in Slytherin… The list went on and on. While I couldn't wait for this to be over, I dreaded the moment the hat would touch my head.

Draco was sorted into Slytherin, as expected. A table filled with students green robes burst into applause as he sauntered over to them, beaming with pride. I dreaded the moment I would have to walk to the Slytherin table myself.

McGonagall had reached "Parkinson" now, whom the hat deemed a Slytherin, then two twin girls with the surname "Patil," then "Perks," and then "Potter, Harry."

A series of whispers broke out amongst the students. Everyone's eyes widened in amazement as Harry approached the stool. It was easy imagine how the students would react when my name was called. Instead of amazement, people would stare in fear. Instead of whispering, everyone would be dead silent, too petrified to move a muscle. What if the hat didn't _want_ to sort me? What if they kicked me out because of who I was? What if I was too dangerous to be taught magic?

I pushed the thoughts away as the hat bellowed "GRYFFINDOR!" I gave Harry a thumbs-up as he walked to the overjoyed, applauding table. More intrusive thoughts filled my head. What if no one clapped for me when I was sorted? Would even Slytherin be happy to have Voldemort's daughter?

There were only five people left to be sorted now: me, Ron, and three others whose surnames I desperately hoped came before "Silverwood" in the alphabet. How was _I_ supposed to follow up Harry Potter?

I must have jinxed myself, because McGonagall then said the two words I dreaded most:

"Silverwood, Sadie."

The cheering and applause came to an abrupt stop. I focused my eyes on the hat to avoid seeing the frightened faces surrounding me as I approached the stool. My face was heating up, and I must have been blushing like crazy. I wished just one person would start whispering about me. Whispers were better than silence.

I placed the hat on my head.

" _Hmmm…"_ The booming voice of the Hat echoed in my head, startling me. " _You're a difficult one. An entire family of Gryffindors, except your parents. Slytherins, they were. Makes me think you should follow in their footsteps."_

" _Can I, um… not be in Slytherin?"_ I thought, hoping the Sorting Hat would hear. " _I don't want to end up like my parents… I want people to know I'm not them."_

" _You want to differ from your family, I see,"_ the hat said, annoyed. " _Your mother was the same way. Let me guess, you want to stand out for once, you want to be noticed_ —"

" _I'd rather not, actually,"_ I interrupted. My thoughts from Diagon Alley resurfaced. " _I want to prove to people I'm not the monster they're making me out to be."_

" _That's a very Slytherin thing to say,"_ the Hat thought. " _Quite… ambitious of you. But you've got a bit of fire in you, too. A Gryffindor fire."_

My hopes rose. " _So I'm a Gryffindor?"_

" _You focus your ambition on being sorted into Gryffindor,"_ the hat said. " _Ironic, isn't it?"_

I stared at the stopwatch on the wall that timed everyone's Sorting. It had already been almost a minute.

" _Yes, that's because it's where I want to be,"_ I urged. " _Why can't you just put me there?"_

" _I told you, you're a difficult one. Some Gryffindor blood, and some Slytherin blood. And you came off as a Slytherin at first."_

" _But why?"_ I inquired. " _I'm really not that cunning and ambitious."_ And I also really didn't want to be in Slytherin.

" _Ah, but you are,"_ said the hat. " _You became fluent in Spanish as a second language over a span of three years, and that's ambition if I ever saw it."_

" _How do you know that?"_

" _I can read your thoughts, you know,"_ it retorted. " _Besides, Slytherin's just in your blood. You could flourish a lot in that house."_

" _Right,"_ I thought. " _But wasn't Gryffindor in my mother's blood? And she was a Slytherin. Every Silverwood except my mother was in Gryffindor. So shouldn't that cancel out a few Slytherins?"_

Two minutes.

" _You do make a compelling argument, but you're just different."_

" _How so?"_

" _Your mother's family wasn't made up of the most powerful wizards of all time,"_ the Sorting Hat explained. " _Usually, all the Gryffindors in your bloodline would make it the most logical house for you, but the Dark Lord himself being there changes everything."_

" _I'm not him, and I want nothing to do with him."_

" _I know,"_ it assured me. " _You've told me this already. Listen, you wouldn't understand these things, Silverwood. Just let me do my job. I'm much more experienced in this realm than you, so—"_

" _But I_ want _to understand,"_ I thought. " _Then I can rebut your argument better."_

" _Now that I think about it, wanting to understand things is quite a Ravenclaw trait."_

" _Better than Slytherin."_

" _Well, if you really don't want to be in Slytherin, I might consider it…"_

Three minutes. Whispers amongst the students began to cut through the excruciating silence.

" _Can you get on with this?"_ My anxiety grew with every second that went by. I longed to be off this stool, relaxing at one of the house tables with the reassuring knowledge my Sorting was over. My eyes kept darting back at the timer, wondering how much longer this would take.

" _Let's look back on your life,"_ the hat suggested, making me sigh aloud. " _You've never really learned from your mistakes, have you? You've been caught sneaking down to the kitchen for a snack in the middle of the night countless times, yet you've never bothered to think of a solution. A cunning Slytherin would try to figure out a better route, or at least go downstairs at a different time. Maybe you aren't a Slytherin after all."_ My nerves settled a bit at this news. " _And you've always been more of a cynic than an optimist, always seeing the negative outcome rather than the positive. Like this morning, for instance, you were thinking up all sorts of worst-case scenarios for your Hogwarts experience. And right now, you're thinking about how horribly this Sorting could turn out. A daydreaming Ravenclaw would be quite different."_

Four minutes.

That left Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. My worst-case scenarios were wrong—there was a fifty-fifty chance I'd be sorted into my dream house, and Hufflepuff wouldn't be so bad either. But it's certainly no Gryffindor.

" _You're really set on Gryffindor, aren't you?"_ the hat said. " _Well, you've always had a knack for seeing the worst in people. Don't get offended now, it makes sense you'd have trust issues based on the people you live with."_ Could this hat learn its boundaries? " _But regardless, a faithful Hufflepuff would try to find_ _a person's strengths rather than their flaws."_

That only left one option. I was getting quite excited now: This torturous Sorting was about to come to a close, and it would end just the way I wanted. I stared back at the clock. It was nearing five minutes.

" _I can tell you want to get this done with, so I'll be brief,"_ the hat declared. " _What you are is reckless. You don't like rules, but you're not quite good at breaking them without being spotted. You're always waiting for some adventure to pop up and make your life interesting. And you dare to stand up to people, even your godfather, when you know something's not fair. I believe that only leaves me with one option."_

Without another second of hesitation, the hat made its decision:

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Four minutes and fifty-nine seconds.

 _"That was_ not _brief,"_ I mentally muttered before taking the hat off my head.

A wave of relief flooded over me, but it quickly diminished when the Gryffindor table began a half-hearted, stunned slow clap. Even Harry slowed his applause when he realized what the students around him were doing. The only person who seemed excited about my Sorting was Draco. Fred and George were giving me the most energetic standing ovation they could, but their pity applause only made my embarrassment worse. Percy eyed them with disapproval.

No matter how little clapping there was, the moment felt like a dream. I didn't think Gryffindor was even a possibility for me, but now I was walking towards its house table, beaming with euphoria. Everything was so surreal: the colors were richer, the candles were brighter, and I could finally see the beauty in life—that is, until I noticed Draco smirking, scowling, and glaring at me all at once from the Slytherin table.

That was his trademark "my-father-will-hear-about-this" look.

I hadn't weighed the pros and cons of getting sorted into Gryffindor, just the pros. Lucius would kill me—literally or figuratively, I didn't know. He might take me down to the cellar and beat me for however long it takes him to get his anger out, and leave me locked down there without any food or drink…

" _He can't do anything to you here,"_ I silently reminded myself. " _You're at Hogwarts. You're away from the Malfoys, even Draco now. Don't worry."_

Harry gave me a high-five as I sat down next to him, making Percy's jaw drop to the table. I assumed he was one of the many people who feared and despised me (for no good reason) and never dreamed that Harry and I would even be acquaintances.

We watched as Dean Thomas was sorted into Gryffindor and Lisa Turpin into Ravenclaw. Next went Ron, who looked a sickly green. The hat barely touched his hair before it shouted "GRYFFINDOR!" and our table burst into applause. Beaming, he sat across from Harry and I, and we each high-fived him as his brothers patted him on the back, except Percy, who was yet again staring at me in disbelief.

Finally, Blaise Zabini was placed in Slytherin, and the Sorting came to an end.

"I thought you were going to be a Hatstall," Ron told me.

Harry furrowed his brow in confusion. "A what?"

"You know, when your Sorting takes at least five minutes," I explained. "I was one second away. And I've had a lot of bad four minutes and fifty-nine seconds, but that was by far the worst."

At that moment, a tall, elderly man with white hair and a long beard stepped up to a golden podium, bringing the chatter to a standstill. A pair of half-moon spectacles rested on his face, and a Hogwarts crest decorated his purple robes. I recognized him as the man on Harry's chocolate frog card: Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, smiling. "Welcome to Hogwarts! Before we begin, I'd like to say a few words: Nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak! Thank you!" Without another strange word, he took his seat in the center of the professor's table.

"Is he mad?" Harry whispered.

"Mad? No," Percy answered. "Genius? Yes. One of the best wizards in the world—well, I guess he can be a bit mad when he wants to, though. Potatoes?"

Harry looked back at the table and noticed the feast Ron was already devouring. Every dish you could think of had materialized before our eyes: fish and chips, Yorkshire pudding, potatoes, scones, buttered peas… I was already stuffed from the candy, and I wasn't used to eating multiple times in one day, but once I tasted the roast beef, my appetite returned. Food had always been this plentiful at Malfoy Manor, but the Hogwarts food didn't look so bland and tasteless. Unlike the Manor, Hogwarts wasn't dreary enough to make cooking as fantastic as Manuel's taste like a physical embodiment of depression. I couldn't stop myself from eating every bite.

"That looks good," a ghost behind us said, startling me. "I haven't eaten in nearly five centuries—well, I don't need to, but I do miss it. I'm Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, ghost of Gryffindor Tower." He introduced himself with a flourished bow.

"You're Nearly Headless Nick!" Ron and I said in unison. I had heard all about the Hogwarts ghosts from Manuel.

"Well, I would _prefer_ —"

" _Nearly_ headless?" a boy named Seamus Finnigan interjected. "How can you be—"

Without missing a beat, Nick pulled his head to the left so it hung over his shoulder, revealing a neck soaked in blood. He was almost decapitated; it looked as if given another tug his head could be completely pulled off. The ghost put his head back into place and angrily floated away as I forced the image out of my mind.

"What's his problem?" Seamus asked.

"Reckon it's the House Cup," George said.

"Slytherin's won it for the past six years," Fred finished.

"Nick says the Bloody Baron's getting unbearable," Percy added, gesturing to a ghost covered in blood sitting at the Slytherin table. I smirked as I saw Draco sitting next to him, not looking too pleased with the seating arrangements.

"What are you smiling about?" Percy asked, hesitant to talk to me, but still suspicious.

"Oh, nothing," I said. Harry noticed Draco's predicament as well and tried to hide his own triumphant smile while Percy eyed both of us with confusion.

Once we all finished our meals, an assortment of desserts appeared on the table: tarts, cakes, pies, pudding, and more. I was helping myself to a scoop of salted caramel ice cream, my favorite flavor, when the conversation changed to our families. What a wonderful topic.

"Me dad's a Muggle. Mum's a witch," I heard Seamus say. "Bit of a nasty shock for him when he found out."

Even I joined in on the laughter.

"What about you, Neville?" Ron asked.

Neville Longbottom, the boy with the toad, began a long tale about how his grandmother raised him. His family thought he was a Squib and tried to force magic out of him by dangling him out of a window, but one day when he was nine, his grandfather dropped him by accident, and he bounced on his head across the road and didn't earn a single scratch. As a reward for showing signs of magic, his grandmother bought him Trevor.

Neville asked Ron about his family next, but before Ron could answer, Draco pushed him and George apart and took a seat in between them.

"This is the Gryffindor table, _cabrón_ ," I scowled. I thought I had gotten rid of him, but apparently not.

"Okay, just because you say it in Spanish doesn't mean I haven't looked it up yet," Draco retorted. "So, how do you think Father will react when he finds out you're sitting here and not with the Slytherins?" Harry, Ron, Fred, George, Percy, Seamus, Neville, and even Hermione, who had also been sorted into Gryffindor, were now watching us with great interest.

"Did you just come over here to avoid the Bloody Baron?" I asked, changing the subject.

"That's besides the point," he snapped. "Answer the question."

"Well, I'd suppose he'd bash me with his cane a hundred times," I predicted, alarming the others, "but, then again, he won't have a reaction because he's not going to find out."

"And what makes you think I won't tell him?"

"I've got ten years worth of blackmail on you and I'm not afraid to use it," I threatened.

"Sorry, Sadie, but unlike everyone else, I'm not scared of you." A smirk appeared on his face.

"That's low."

"So is blackmail."

"Hey, Harry," I began, my eyes still trained on Draco, "have I ever told you how good Draco here is at braiding hair?" Everyone around us laughed at him.

Draco's smirk was replaced by a glare. "You're awful, you know."

"Wow, thank you so much for that insightful advice," I muttered, mocking what he had said in Diagon Alley.

"I'm serious," he said. "I'm not going to make any friends because you just _had_ to be my godsister."

"Well I didn't want myself to be born, either."

"Did I ask for your opinion?" he scoffed. "The point is, everyone's going to hate me and it's all your fault."

"Wow, I wonder what it's like to be hated because of something you can't control," I hinted with fake sincerity.

Draco sighed and put his head in his hands from aggravation. "Here we go."

"Really, what a concept that is," I continued without hesitating. "That's definitely never happened to me before and I can't imagine how horrible it must be. I truly apologize for bestowing this terrible burden upon you."

Draco sighed. "Trust me, guys, she's not evil," he muttered through gritted teeth to the students surrounding me. "Just really annoying." He stormed off to the Slytherin table.

"I'll take what I can get," I said to myself.

"Er," Percy began with a hint of reluctance, "I think you just provoked him to do whatever he was going on about."

"Eh, he does whatever he wants no matter what I say," I replied, "so why not have some fun?"

"Is it true?" George asked.

"Is what true?"

"Does he really braid hair?" Fred clarified.

"Yeah, he taught me how," I said with a chuckle.

Suddenly, Harry let out an "Agh!" and held his hand to his forehead, right where his lightning-shaped scar was.

"What is it?" Percy asked.

"Nothing," Harry answered. "Who's that talking to Professor Quirrell?" He gestured to a man with greasy black hair and an unwelcoming face. The man was leaning over a scrawny, shaking teacher with a suspiciously large turban.

"Oh, you know Quirrell?" Percy examined the table where the teachers were sitting at. "Oh, no wonder he looks so nervous. That's Professor Snape talking to him, Potions professor and Head of Slytherin House. Snape's been after the Defense Against the Dark Arts position for years, and that's what Quirrell's teaching. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape. " Snape's glare never faltered as he talked to Professor Quirrell, who was fidgeting with his purple turban, his skin as white as a sheet. He didn't quite fit the description of the Potions Master Manuel had loved so dearly. In fact, he seemed quite the opposite.

The desserts disappeared, and the hall fell silent as Dumbledore stepped up to the podium once more.

"Now that we've eaten, I'd like to give a few start-of-term notices. If you can't tell from the name, the Forbidden Forest is forbidden for all students, _third years included_." He glared at Fred and George. The idea of going to this Forbidden Forest suddenly intrigued me. "No magic should be used in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held during the second week of the term. Those interested should contact Madam Hooch. Lastly, I shall inform you that the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is strictly off-limits unless you wish to die a very painful death."

I had heard that Hogwarts was the safest place in the world, but that last bit wavered my trust. Harry seemed to be the only other person to show any concern.

"And now," Dumbledore announced, "let us sing the school song!"

With a flick of his wand, a banner with lyrics written across it flew into the air. The hall immediately burst into a deafening racket. Everyone sung to different tunes, some even rapping at full speed. Fred and George were the last ones singing, performing a slow funeral march that earned a standing ovation from Dumbledore.

"And now, bedtime," he finished. "Follow your house prefects to your dormitories. Well, off you go!"

The first year Gryffindors followed Percy, whose golden badge stated he was a prefect, through the corridors of the castle until we reached a portrait of a plump woman in a gaudy pink gown. Percy told us she called herself the Fat Lady.

"Password?" she requested.

" _Caput Draconis_ ," Percy said, and the painting swung open like a door to reveal the Gryffindor common room, which was full of red armchairs and couches. The walls were painted red with a gold trim, and a red rug with beautiful abstract designs covered the smooth wood floor. Above the crackling fireplace was a portrait of our house founder Godric Gryffindor. He welcomed the new students with a warm smile and a wave of his hand. Percy directed us towards two sets of staircases that led to the dormitories; the girls were located on the right and the boys on the left. Before we left, he informed us that our owls had been sent to the Owlery in the West Tower.

The dorm room held all six of the first-year Gryffindor girls. My luggage waited for me by the wall, so I grabbed it and went to pick out a bed. Being the introvert I am, I picked the bed in the far right corner, and left my suitcase by the nightstand. Most of the girls hurried away from me, but, for some reason, Hermione took the bed next to me. I decided this was my chance to apologize and even befriend her.

"Hey, um, Hermione?" I started.

"Yes?"

"I just wanted to apologize for what happened in Diagon Alley," I said, slightly lowering my voice.

"It's not your fault," she said. "You stood up for me, so I should really be thanking you."

"Really? I mean, um, yeah, I—I guess I did…" I stammered.

"I think I'll go to bed now," she said, cutting off my awkward stuttering. "We'll need to be well-rested for tomorrow, you know? They might give us pop quizzes and I wouldn't want to be unprepared. I'll have to get up early to study… Goodnight, then!"

"Goodnight." I smiled as I lay on the bed and began to drift off.


	5. I Horribly Ruin a First Impression

**IV. I Horribly Ruin a First Impression**

New places always made me nervous. I didn't know where any of the best hiding spots or quickest escape routes were, and I always feared I would get lost. It didn't help that navigating Hogwarts was twice as confusing as navigating Malfoy Manor. The castle was constantly changing. Hermione had woken up early to locate all of our classes, but a couple of hours later, nothing was as she had planned. Portraits had switched frames, doors had disappeared, and the staircases were always moving. Everything that had once set the corridors apart from each other was now different. I wanted to hex whoever built this place.

The caretaker, Filch, wasn't much help either. Hermione tried to ask him for help, but he only yelled at her to get to class. And his cat, Mrs. Norris, was even worse. If she spotted you doing so much as walking on the wrong side of the corridor, she would glare at you with her red demon eyes and run off for Filch.

With perseverance and the help of Nearly Headless Nick, Hermione and I eventually arrived at each of our classes.

Astronomy, taught by Professor Sinistra, was one of my favorites since it gave me an excuse to stay up past midnight. Every Wednesday, we would go to the Astronomy Tower at nightfall and study the stars through our telescopes. However, I didn't care about the learning part as much as the stargazing, and I was too tired to process the information she fed us anyway.

Professor Sprout was a wonderful Herbology professor, but I wished we only had one lesson on plants a week instead of three. It took place every other morning in the Hogwarts greenhouse, filled with plants of varying danger levels. We learned how to tend to and the proper uses of everything from dried nettles to Devil's Snare.

Charms was taught by a tiny wizard, Professor Flitwick, who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. Despite his size, he was a superb professor, and he wasn't timid at all. Quirrell was the timid one.

Quirrell was a shy, feeble wizard whose apprehension showed he had no experience in public speaking, let alone teaching. A stutter never failed to cling to the beginnings of his words during his Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons, and he was always shaking, as if he was scared of us. The stories he told about defeating zombies and vampires were too magnificent to be about him, and the fact that he always seemed angry at me didn't help him gain my approval. He would glare at me at least twice per class, and on the rare occasions he summoned the courage to take points from students, it was almost always me. Even though he hadn't made the best first impression on me, I had to admit it could've been worse. We could've had Gilderoy Lockhart for a teacher.

McGonagall's class, Transfiguration, was the exact opposite of Quirrell's.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she warned us before beginning our first lesson. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back."

She may sound strict, but her hard-core, headstrong personality quickly gained my admiration. Plus, she liked me, something people tend not to do. Maybe she noticed how I stood up against Draco's offensive comments in Diagon Alley, or maybe she was just willing to give me a chance. Whatever the reason, McGonagall inevitably compelled me to love Transfiguration. We spent our first class learning how to turn matches into needles, and Hermione was the first student to sharpen the tip of her match and transform the wood into metal. A soft smile formed on McGonagall's stern face as Hermione mastered the spell.

History of Magic was the most boring class. Nearly Headless Nick and Peeves were always spirited and lively, despite being dead, but Professor Binns was a very different ghost. His endless droning of names and dates was so dull that we might as well have been doing nothing at all. According to Percy, Professor Binns had fallen asleep while grading tests many years ago and woke up to discover that he was a ghost. Sometimes, sitting through his class made me wish I could die that easily.

By Friday morning, there was only one class that I had yet to experience, and its teacher was none other than Professor Snape. The sheer thought of meeting him filled me with anxiety. No matter how many times I tried not to judge him based on appearance, his cold, emotionless stare reminded me why I was so worried. He had the same effect on Quirrell—who looked much older than him—that Lucius had on me, and his harsh expression was no different. Snape looked as if he would be just as strict and merciless as Lucius was. I could only hope that Snape didn't have a grudge against Silverwoods.

"What've we got today?" Harry asked at breakfast.

"Double Potions with the Slytherins," Ron said with a hint of disgust.

 _Double_ Potions? With the _Slytherins_? Of course the class with Snape _and_ Draco was the class I had to take twice in a row.

"Snape's Head of Slytherin," Ron continued. "They say he always favors them."

"Wish McGonagall favored us," Harry muttered. McGonagall was Head of Gryffindor, but that didn't stop her from bombarding us with homework.

At that moment, the mail arrived. Hundreds of owls flew from above, all carrying envelopes in their beaks or holding small boxes wrapped with decorative paper in their talons. I wasn't expecting to receive anything, yet the sight of all the other students receiving a letter filled me with envy. Even Harry's owl, Hedwig, dropped an envelope next to his fork.

Just as everyone around me began to open their letters, something fell next to my plate. I glanced up to see Firefly join the flock of owls heading back to the Owlery. My eyes drifted back to the table: Two letters lay in front of me.

Surprised, I turned over the first letter in my hand. I couldn't make out the words written on the back, but I recognized Manuel's elegant calligraphy all the same. Writing was his talent—and not just handwriting. He truly had a way with words. Sometimes, he would write short stories for me, fables, mysteries, action, everything except romance—romance made me want to vomit. And even though the letters would scramble themselves around to prevent me from understanding, and Manuel often had to read it aloud with me, the beauty of the words was no less. He could paint beautiful pictures in your mind, write complex characters, and give words more power than I knew was possible. His dream was to become a famous author, and if he only had the money to publish his books, he would be a bestseller in no time. But he would never accept any money I offered him. He had no idea how much he deserved it.

I ripped the envelope open and stared at the letter inside, baffled. I tried sounding out the letters under my breath, but they didn't seem to make any real words. All of the consonants were jumbled together, and the few vowels there were scattered themselves in the strangest places. It made no sense.

The Malfoys had never bothered to teach me how to read and write, so when Manuel discovered this during one of our first Spanish lessons, he set out to teach me. It was hard enough since I was seven (of course Draco had learned when he was four), and I was left-handed so I wrote everything backwards at first, but the real obstacle was that I had something Manuel called "dyslexia." The letters would always switch around and the words would never be spaced correctly, and the fact that English was the least phonetic thing on the planet didn't help at all. So, I learned Spanish orally from then on, and we focused on reading and writing only in English. I could manage to read regular print if I tried hard enough, but Manuel's handwriting was too connected and loopy for me to make out.

Hermione was sitting next to me, opening a present from her parents. It was a box of chocolates of all shapes and sizes, some decorated with frosting and others covered in sprinkles. Of course, I was jealous, but I suppressed my urge to ask her if I could have one.

"Hey, Hermione," I said tentatively, "would you mind reading this letter to me?"

"Sure, why?" she said with a concerned look on her face.

"I have dyslexia," I blurted. My face turned bright scarlet, but Hermione only reacted with an understanding nod.

"'Dear Sadie,'" Hermione began, "'How was your first week at Hogwarts? I heard you were sorted into Gryffindor, and I'm so proud of you! I wish you were in Hufflepuff, though… Anyways, are you making friends all right? And how are the teachers treating you? Tell me if you need help with anything, or any general advice. Also, Mr. Malfoy sent you a Howler for getting into Gryffindor, so I wanted to prepare you for that when it comes. I tried to talk him out of it, I promise. On that note, good luck. Love, Manuel.'" She handed the letter back to me.

"Thanks," I mumbled.

"No problem," Hermione said with a reassuring smile. "Who's Manuel? And what's a Howler?"

"Manuel works at the Manor, he's the butler or Lucius's private servant or something," I explained. "And a Howler is…" I began to process what Manuel had said in the letter—the Malfoys had sent me a Howler. I looked back at the other envelope in front of my plate, and surely enough, it was a bright, threatening crimson.

It didn't make sense. The only way Lucius and Narcissa could have found out I was in Gryffindor would be…

Draco.

Being so caught up in school, I had almost forgotten about our argument at the banquet. And now, because of him, I had gotten a Howler. First Snape, and now this… I was foolish to think I could ever escape the Malfoys.

I picked up the Howler to examine it. No matter how much I tried to convince myself it was a normal letter that just so happened to have a red envelope, I thought back to Manuel's warning. It wasn't just any letter.

"Is that a…" Ron asked, leaving his question unfinished.

"Yes, yes it is," I answered, my voice shaking.

"What are you talking about?" Harry jumped in. The Howler must have looked like a normal letter to him.

Hermione stared at my trembling hand, her brow furrowed. "Yeah, what's wrong?" she questioned.

"That's a Howler," Percy jumped in, suddenly interested in the conversation.

"A what?" Harry asked with a quizzical look.

"It's a voice-recorded card that yells at you and then bursts into flames, basically," Percy answered, concerning Harry and Hermione. "The temperature increases so much upon delivery that, after twenty-four hours, it becomes so hot it explodes."

"Physically and verbally," I added, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I'll stick with Muggle cards, thanks," Harry said.

"Why would someone send you one?" Percy inquired.

"For getting into Gryffindor, because that's _so_ awful." I could taste my own bitterness on my tongue. "Or maybe Manuel was wrong and it's because I haven't managed to die yet."

Percy eyed the letter with concern. "You better open it soon. Madam Pince won't be too happy if it blows up in the library."

"I will. But first, there's something I have to do." I stood up from the bench.

"Where are you going?" Percy glared at me.

"Showing Draco something I like to call the Silverwood Smackdown," I said. Harry, Ron, and Hermione lit up and rose from their seats to join me.

"Sorry," Percy interjected, "but as a Gryffindor Prefect, I can't allow you to smack anyone—Hey, wait!"

I didn't bother replying and instead set off for the Slytherin table with Harry, Ron, and Hermione following close behind. Over the course of the past week, Percy had realized that I wasn't an insane death machine. Although he still didn't like to initiate conversation with me, he didn't necessarily avoid me. He treated me how a Prefect would treat any other first year, and that would suffice.

"Wait, what are we doing again?" Ron whispered as we approached the Slytherins.

"Giving Draco a stern talking-to," I said through gritted teeth. Ron seemed a bit disappointed; perhaps he did want to smack Draco. I did too, but I also didn't want to lose points for Gryffindor. Draco would enjoy that too much.

We arrived at the Slytherin table and closed in on Draco.

"You told him," I said, my fists clenched in anger. He whipped around and his eyes flew to the letter.

"Oh, is this a Howler? From Father?" he teased. My face turned as red as the envelope. "Let's see what's inside, shall we?" Before I had time to react, he snatched it out of my hand.

"Give it back!" I reached for the Howler, but Draco held it behind his back and laughed. He was about to hand it to Crabbe, but just as Crabbe grabbed hold of the card, Hermione raised her wand:

" _JELLY LEGS JINX_!"

Crabbe dropped the Howler as his legs began spasming every which way. Draco bent down to reach for it, but Ron kicked him in the stomach, causing him to fall backwards and crash into Crabbe. Harry swiped the letter off the floor before anyone else could and handed it back to me. I stuffed it in my messenger bag, a triumphant smirk forming on my lips.

"What is going on here?"

Everyone froze. McGonagall was standing in front of us, her nostrils flaring.

" _Unjellify_." A green light shot out of her wand and towards Crabbe, allowing him to regain his balance.

"Weasley kicked me, Professor," Draco said, pointing an accusing finger at Ron.

"No, he didn't," I lied, trying not to smile.

"But—"

"Sadie got a Howler," Harry interjected. I looked down at my feet. "Malfoy took it and tried to open it. We were just trying to get it back, Professor."

Not knowing who to believe, McGonagall shook her head and sighed. "Malfoy, leave Silverwood alone. And you four," she glared at Harry, Ron, Hermione, and me, "go back to your table." The four of us hurried away from the crime scene before McGonagall could think up any consequences.

"Thanks," I said, laughing. "You guys are the best."

"Anytime," Hermione said with a smug smile on her face. I had no idea she could produce such a spell, or shout that loud, and I was impressed. And a little scared.

After breakfast and a lecture from Percy I paid no attention to, we ventured off to the Potions room. Despite getting lost multiple times, we eventually arrived in the dim, gloomy classroom near the dungeons, filled with cauldrons and animal parts I hoped we wouldn't be using as ingredients. I sat at one of the long, black tables between Ron and Hermione, and Harry squeezed past us to sit on the other side of Ron. The two of them still weren't great friends with Hermione.

"I can't believe I couldn't figure out the countercurse was just ' _unjellify_ '!" I heard Draco say as he entered the room with Crabbe and Goyle. Crabbe cast a glare Hermione's way, and the three of them took their seats at the opposite side of the room. Then, class started.

Manuel had always told me not to judge a book by its cover, but that was proving difficult. At this point, I'm pretty sure Manuel was lying about the whole "the Potions professor is so great" thing just to ease my nerves. But, as Snape began his start-of-term speech, my anxiety was worse than ever.

"I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach," he said in a cold monotone. Harry and Ron exchanged judging looks, but Hermione was already copying down every word of what he was saying. In order to keep myself from drifting off into thought, I started doodling an eye on my parchment. Snape's redundant spiel didn't seem important enough to be writing down.

"Potter!" Snape shouted, making us all jump. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Hermione's hand shot into the air, but Harry just sat there, bewildered.

"I don't know, sir," Harry said.

"Fame isn't everything, I see," Snape sneered. "Let's try again, Potter. Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter? Now, what's the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"I don't know, sir. But I think Hermione does, so why don't you ask her?"

"Sit down," he snapped at Hermione, who was nearly out of her seat from excitement. "Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is found in the stomach of a goat. Monkshood and wolfsbane are colloquial terms for the same thing. And I'll take a point from Gryffindor for your cheek. Well, why aren't you all writing this down?" Everyone immediately rummaged in their bags for parchment and began taking notes. I already despised Snape. Who asks a first year trick questions to humiliate them, especially one who grew up in the Muggle world?

The quill I was using to draw was a thought-to-text converting quill. Manuel gave it to me to write with at Hogwarts since, of course, he wouldn't be there to help me. All I had to do was set the quill to the paper and will it to write what I wanted to say. There are also speech-to-text converting quills, but Manuel figured McGonagall wouldn't appreciate me repeating everything she says during her lectures, so he opted for the alternative. I dipped the quill in ink, set it to the paper, and let it jot down the answers to Harry's personal pop quiz. Once I was finished, I grabbed hold of the quill and went back to drawing by hand, now turning the eye into a face. My gaze shot up when I heard fingers snap in front of my face.

"Drawing in class?" Snape was towering before me, fuming. I winced at the thought of being in trouble.

"It helps me focus, sir," I explained timidly.

"You do know that's against the rules, correct?"

"I didn't, sir," I said, hoping I haven't already earned myself detention. "And I wrote everything down."

"I'll have to take five points from Gryffindor," Snape declared, a hint of enjoyment lingering in his voice. He picked up the parchment to examine it. "The facial proportions aren't even correct."

"Your facial proportions aren't even correct," I blurted.

And that, my friends, is the story of how I signed my first death warrant.

Snape slammed the parchment back down on the table. "That'll be another five points."

"That's fair, sir," I mumbled, staring at the table. The quill solemnly drew an X over my well-proportioned sketch and copied every word Snape said. I felt the glares of the other Gryffindors on my back—I couldn't afford another screw-up.

Why did I say that? We hadn't even started class, and I had already lost ten points _and_ made a teacher my enemy. Gryffindor already despised me enough, and now I had given them a reason to get rid of me. What would Percy do? McGonagall? Dumbledore? I decided I would keep my mouth shut in Snape's class from now on.

For the rest of the never-ending lesson, I worked with Hermione to make a boil-curing potion. Ours was perfect, since Hermione did most of the work, but Snape still found a way to criticize it. He even took a point from Gryffindor for our smoke not being the right shade of green. In fact, he criticized everyone except Draco, whose smoke was the exact same acid color as ours.

After what felt like three years, we climbed out of the dungeon and Hermione rushed off to the library to do homework. Being the procrastinator I am, I walked with Harry and Ron to the common rooms instead.

"Sadie, do you want to come with me and Ron to Hagrid's?" Harry asked me on the way back. "He invited us for tea."

"Sure," I said. I figured it would help me get my mind off the Howler, which I been worried about all day.

My bag felt lighter than usual, so I checked it to make sure I hadn't forgot anything in the Potions classroom. To my dismay, I had: my quill and inkwell. In my rush to escape Snape and his lesson, I had been utterly careless and earned myself another visit.

"I left something in the Potions room; I'll be right back," I grumbled before hurrying back to the dungeons, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible. I prayed to Merlin that my forgetfulness wouldn't lose me any more house points.

With the help of a reluctant Bloody Baron, I reached the Potions classroom. I was about knock on the door when I heard voices coming from inside.

"I knew Silverwood would be a problem." Snape's depressing drone was unmistakable. "We shouldn't have let her come here in the first place."

"I don't think drawing in class is expulsion-worthy, Severus," came Dumbledore's wise voice. My spirits rose at his words. Snape couldn't argue with the headmaster.

Oh, but he would certainly try.

"She said my facial proportions aren't correct," Snape pointed out. I cringed at my own impulsiveness.

"I don't like to punish honesty here at Hogwarts."

"But, Albus, you can't deny her background," Snape testified. I had to restrain myself from barging into the classroom to prove my innocence. "You know who her father is. And her mother was a nightmare." Nightmare? I did _not_ learn the entire Spanish language to find out my mother was a nightmare.

"There are plenty of children of Death Eaters here, and I don't see you trying to get any of them expelled," Dumbledore said calmly. Really calmly. "Beside, you've spent your time in that realm yourself, so I can't seem to understand your worries about an innocent eleven-year-old." Finally, someone who understood. I gained a newfound appreciation for my surplus of Dumbledore's Chocolate Frog cards. And I must, once again, note the respectable calmness in his voice.

But what was he saying about Snape "spending some time in that realm himself"? I remembered what Percy had said at the banquet: _Knows a lot about the Dark Arts, Snape._ If Snape was anything like Lucius, he would be a former Death Eater himself—no, Dumbledore wouldn't have hired a known Dark wizard. I was being ridiculous. Right?

Lost in thought as I was, I didn't realize Dumbledore leaving the room until it was too late.

"Miss Silverwood?!" Dumbledore said, slamming the door in his surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, um," I stuttered, "I left my quill and ink in here, and thought I'd wait till you were done talking…"

A worried expression hung on his face. "How much of that did you hear?"

"Enough," I muttered. "What was that about my mum?"

"Well…" Dumbledore sighed. "Why don't you get your things and then we'll talk?" he suggested instead.

I nodded and cautiously reopened the door to the classroom. I found my quill and inkwell right where I had left them, and hastily screwed the lid on the inkwell and shoved both items in my bag.

"You shouldn't eavesdrop, Silverwood," Snape said without looking up from his desk. I didn't answer him and instead hurried out of the classroom.

"You were saying?" I asked as I exited the dungeon with Dumbledore.

"Well, about your mother," Dumbledore started, "she and Professor Snape went to school together. They were in the same year and house, so they were friends."

"I thought she was a nightmare."

"That wasn't until they were out of school," he continued. "There was a war, as you know, and I'm afraid there was more than one instance of friends betraying each other." So he did have a grudge against Silverwoods. Great.

"What did she do?" I inquired.

Dumbledore glanced at his feet. "That's a story for another time. The point is, he hated her from then on, and the fact that you're the spitting image of her doesn't exactly help."

"So _that's_ the parent he has a problem with?"

He let out a small chuckle. "Yes, Miss Silverwood, that's the parent he has a problem with."

"I"ll take it," I muttered. "And what were you saying about Snape being a Death Eater?"

"I said nothing of the sort," Dumbledore quickly retorted. "And _Professor_ Snape."

"Fair, but you said he 'spent some time in that realm.'"

"I did," Dumbledore admitted. "Look, Professor Snape had a very complicated role in the war that you're far too young to understand."

"So, he was a Death Eater and you don't want me to know that?"

Dumbledore paused. "Miss Silverwood, I'm going to have to ask you not to jump to such outrageous conclusions."

"Sorry, Professor," I muttered.

We stopped in front of a large gargoyle. "Well, I should get back to my office," Dumbledore said. "I have work to do. But first—did you really tell Snape that his facial proportions were incorrect?"

"Yeah," I mumbled, looking down at my feet.

"Did he take points?"

"Yeah, five."

"Well, I'll have to give those five points back," he declared, making my heart leap for joy.

"You—what?"

A humorous glint flashed in Dumbledore's eyes. "It takes true Gryffindor nerve to say something so controversial yet so true." He stepped in front of the large gargoyle. "Acid Pops." At his words, the wall split apart like sliding doors to reveal a golden staircase, which I assumed led to his office. "Have a nice evening," he said plainly before disappearing inside.

Stunned, but delighted, I wandered through the castle until I found my way back to the Gryffindor common room.

"Balderdash," I said to the Fat Lady, and the portrait swung open, allowing me to enter. I crept into the common room as quietly as possible, knowing all of the other first years were pretty upset with me.

I had barely made it through the portrait hole when I was greeted by none other than Percy Weasley. He blocked me from entering the common room any further, and stood in front of me with his arms crossed, looking furious. His angry breath fanned my face. But, to be fair, he had every right to be furious after I had single-handedly lost an entire ten points.

"Hello," I said with a scared smile.

"Don't 'hello' me, Silverwood," Percy retorted. "You know what you did."

"I do, so please don't remind me."

"So you _really_ lost _ten points_ on the _first week of school_?!" Percy grabbed my shoulders and shook me with every word. The entire common room was focused on us now; even Godric Gryffindor was watching from his portrait.

"I said don't remind me," I mumbled.

"Do I look like I _care_?" He didn't.

"It was for a good cause, okay?" I pointed out. "And Dumbledore found it hilarious so he gave me five of those points back."

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Percy inquired.

"Well, first of all," I began,"I was drawing in class because it helps me focus and _I didn't know it was against the rules_ ," I defended. "And then he had the audacity to criticize the facial proportions of my drawing, so it was only fair to tell him his facial proportions weren't correct either. So, in my defense, he walked right into it." I let out a nervous laugh to soften the blow.

"Legendary," Fred and George said in awe, earning a glare from Percy.

"Just don't let it happen again." Percy tried to hide a smile. Even he was amused, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

After my second Percy lecture of the day, I went straight to the dorm room to reply to Manuel's letter. So, I dipped my special quill in ink and let it write.

 _Dear Manuel,_ I thought. _Hogwarts is actually going a lot better than I expected! First of all, I got into Gryffindor, as you know, so that's great. And I've made a few friends—one of them's Harry Potter! He's not as much of a stuck-up jerk as I thought he would be! And remember that girl I said I hit in Diagon Alley? I'm pretty sure we're friends now. And I'm friends with some of the Weasleys, too. One of them, Ron, is in my year. I think the one who's a prefect, Percy, likes me, but just doesn't want to say so._

 _I got the Howler at the same time as your letter, so thanks for warning me what's inside. I haven't opened it yet._

 _The teachers don't seem to hate me. I think Dumbledore might actually like me. Except for Snape, the Potions professor you said was so kind and intelligent and stuff? Maybe you should get your memory checked. He hates me, he's already taken ten points from me. Sure, I insulted his appearance and I definitely deserved it, but still. Ten points. But it's okay, because Dumbledore gave me five of those points back because "it takes true Gryffindor nerve to say something so controversial yet so true"? He's weird. But Snape's weirder. I don't think he has actual emotions._

 _And then there's Quirrell. He's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, but he seems way too shy to have defeated zombies and dragons and the like… He doesn't seem to like me, either. I don't even know what I did._

 _But I like all the other teachers for the most part, and I love McGonagall and Flitwick. I think the year will go fine after all._

 _Love, Sadie."_

Harry, Ron, and I left at a quarter to three and set out for Hagrid's wooden hut on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. As we got closer, we could hear a series a barks coming from inside, and someone shouting "Get back, Fang, get back!" Harry banged on the door, and it opened to reveal the same friendly face that guided us to Hogwarts on our first day, along with a black, vicious-looking dog. Hagrid motioned for us to come inside.

"Make yerselves at home," Hagrid said, letting go off of Fang, who ran jumped all over the three of us and licked our faces.

The hut was cramped and cluttered with furniture. Drawer and cabinets lined the walls, and baskets and shoes lay scattered along the floor. Teapots and cups sat on a table off to the side, surrounded by wooden chairs. On the other side there was a large bed, and in the center of the wall was a crackling fireplace.

"This is Ron and Sadie," Harry told Hagrid. We both smiled and waved. "I hope you don't mind that I brought them…"

"Course not, I'm happy to have yeh," He glanced at Ron's hair. "Another Weasley? I spent half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest." He looked at me next, and the recognition appeared on his face. "Yeh're Liliana Silverwood's niece, aren't yeh? Yeh have her smile, d'yeh know?" he said, beaming. I nodded, pretending to know who he was talking about. For the most part, my mother's side of the family was a mystery to me. All I could assume was that her name was Alba, since that was my middle name.

Hagrid served us tea and rock cakes as we dove into a summary of our first week of classes. We were delighted to hear Hagrid call Filch "that ol' git" and Snape's unfairness "rubbish". He asked Ron how his brother Charlie was doing, and the two of them indulged in a conversation about Charlie's work with dragons.

"Always wanted a dragon meself," Hagrid mused.

Harry nudged me on the shoulder and pointed at a newspaper laying on the nightstand. I recognized the eyesore of a font as belonging to none other than the _Daily Prophet_.

"I hate _The Daily Prophet_ ," I whispered. "It's fake news."

"Nevermind that," he whispered back. "Read the headline!"After rearranging the letters in my mind, I figured out the bold letters at the top of the page read, "GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST." Below the words was a picture of a goblin talking to the _Daily Prophet_ journalist Rita Skeeter, a woman I hated with every inch of my being. She would always write strongly opinionated articles about me, and was the main reason everyone in the wizarding world thought I was a criminal. She didn't care about her subjects, just about how many papers they would sell.

"Hagrid, the paper says a Dark Wizard robbed Gringotts on my birthday!" Harry said. "What if it happened when we were there? And you would've been there too, Sadie!"

"And Hermione," I cringed as I remembered our first meeting in Diagon Alley.

Hagrid avoided the question by handing us more rock cakes.

When we headed back up the hill to the castle later that evening, Harry wouldn't stop asking questions.

"The paper said that someone broke into vault 713, but nothing was stolen," Harry said. "Hagrid took something from that vault the same day! What if that's what they were planning on taking? What if we got there just in time to stop them?"

"What did he take?" Ron asked.

"I don't know, it was some package. But _why_ did he take it?"

"Maybe you shouldn't be worrying about it," I said, annoyed by Harry's endless rambling.

"I'll stop worrying about it when I find out why someone wanted to steal it," he snapped.

I wanted to tell him it wasn't his problem, but he had a point. What would Hagrid have that a Dark Wizard would want?


	6. Candy Solves All of My Problems

**Warning: Verbal/emotional abuse, mention of physical abuse**

 **V. Candy Solves All of My Problems**

After tea with Hagrid, I went straight to the library to work on homework with Hermione. I didn't want to miss her; after all, I desperately needed her help. To my relief, when I arrived, she was sitting at a table poring over a unreasonably large stack of books.

"What are you going to do about the Howler?" she asked without even looking up. Tea at Hagrid's had succeeded in making me forget all about the dreaded letter. I realized seven hours had passed since I first received it, meaning I had to come up with a plan soon.

"I'm not sure," I confessed. "Any suggestions?" I figured Hermione could help. She always knew what to do.

"I was thinking you could open it in the common room," she said, finally making eye contact with me as I took a seat in the chair across from her.

"The common room?" What was she thinking? "Everyone would hear it!"

"Not if you do it after bed," she said. "They've enchanted the dormitories and common rooms to be soundproof. No one will hear it if you're alone."

"Of course!" I exclaimed at Hermione's brilliance. "Why didn't I think of that? I'm sure they said that in _Hogwarts: A History_ somewhere…"

"You've read _Hogwarts: A History_?"

"Took me a while, but yes," I said.

When I was first starting to learn how to read and write, I chose to read _Hogwarts: A History_ and tried to copy down the words for extra practice. It was extremely thick, hundreds of pages, but that meant thousands of words for me to learn to comprehend. Now, you might be wondering "Oh, Sadie, why didn't you just read a lot of smaller, easier books?" To that I say, as I've told you before, there's a reason I'm not in Ravenclaw.

"I can go with you to open the Howler," Hermione offered, pulling me from my thoughts. "I mean, if you want me to, of course."

"Thanks, but I'd rather be alone." I didn't want to make her worry about me. The last thing I would want to be is a burden.

She handed me a book from her tower titled _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ by Phyllida Spore. "You should get started on your essay for Professor Sprout. It's due Monday." How did she know I hadn't done that yet?

By the time I finished all of my homework for Monday and Tuesday, Hermione had finished her work for the week. We took off from the library, but stopped dead at the sight of Mrs. Norris. She hissed at a box of chocolates dozens of pimples and warts emerged from her fur, a wretched sight. I was about to run away, for fear of Filch catching us in the wrong place at the wrong time, but just then, Fred and George popped out from behind the wall laughing.

"That'll show her!" Fred said between giggles.

"What are you laughing at?" Hermione snapped. "Whatever happened to Mrs. Norris, it isn't funny!"

"Relax," George said. "We were just testing one of our products." He burst out into laughter again.

"Products?" I questioned.

"Carbuncle Chocolates." Fred picked up the box of chocolates next to Mrs. Norris and presented it to us. "Eat one of these and you'll look worse than Filch on a hangover."

"You made that?" I asked, and they both nodded. "Amazing! I should use that on Draco sometime."

"No, you shouldn't!" Hermione scolded. "That's probably illegal!"

"It's not illegal if you don't get caught," Fred and George said in perfect unison before turning the corner in the direction of our common room. I followed them to Gryffindor tower, dragging Hermione along.

By the time we got back, it was nearly nine o'clock. Hermione forced me to do homework for _five hours_. I couldn't believe her.

I spent the next couple of hours drawing the view from the window, watching the clock tick. Every second felt like a minute, and every minute felt like an hour. After the others had gone to bed, I rummaged in my bag for the Howler, my heart pounding in fear of what was inside that envelope. I searched until I touched something that instantly burned like fire. Reflexively, I yanked my hand out and bit my tongue to prevent myself from screaming from the pain. I remembered what Percy had said about how Howlers warm up until they explode from the boiling heat, so I fetched my thickest pair of winter gloves and touched the letter with just the tip of my finger. It was still a little scalding, but bearable. Like hot chocolate that needs just a few more seconds to cool before you can drink it. Except this wasn't a friendly, gentle kind of warmth, but an angry, fiery heat.

I grabbed the Howler and snuck downstairs, taking my sweet time with each step. Finally reaching the bottom, I crept to the couch by the fireplace, waking the portrait of Godric Gryffindor with my footsteps. "You should find a different frame," I suggested. "This won't be pleasant." I showed him the Howler. He took one look it at and ran off the left side of his portrait.

"Bloody hell," someone said from behind me. I turned around to see Fred and George leaning over the couch.

"Is that a Howler?" Fred asked. I nodded.

"Just get it over with," Fred continued as they both sat down on either side of me. "Howlers are never as awful as they look. We've gotten some from our mother before."

"You don't know Lucius Malfoy," I mumbled.

"We can open it with you," George offered.

"You don't have to—"

"We're not in a hurry," Fred said. "Go on, open it."

I didn't want Fred and George hearing what Lucius had to say any more than I wanted Hermione to, but the two of them didn't seem to be leaving anytime soon. Besides, I had to open the Howler at some point. With a shaking hand, I ripped open the red envelope and braced myself for the shouting that would erupt from within. The Howler transformed into a mouth-like card with jagged edges of parchment for teeth and a forked ribbon for a tongue, and even thought it was completely incapable of showing human expression, it seemed to be enraged.

"HOW _DARE_ YOU BE SORTED INTO GRYFFINDOR?!" shouted Lucius's voice, the Howler barking right in my face. "GRYFFINDOR IS THE HOUSE OF MUDBLOODS AND TRAITORS, NOT PURE-BLOODS RAISED BY A RESPECTABLE FAMILY SUCH AS MINE! AND ESPECIALLY NOT SOMEONE OF YOUR HERITAGE! I DIDN'T RAISE YOU TO BECOME SUCH A DISGRACEFUL BLOOD TRAITOR. IT'S THE SILVERWOOD BLOOD IN YOU, IT'S RUINED YOU. PATHETIC. YOU DIDN'T DESERVE TO GO TO HOGWARTS IN THE FIRST PLACE, BUT I HAD TO GET RID OF YOU SOMEHOW. YOU ARE A DISCREDIT TO THE MALFOY NAME AND NO DAUGHTER OF MINE."

Before the Howler could burst into flames, I grabbed it from the air, ripped it into pieces, and chucked it into the fireplace with all the strength I could muster. My face bright red, I lowered my chin into my hands, trying not to cry.

"All that just for getting into Gryffindor?" George questioned with a hint of disgust in his voice.

"What an arse," Fred muttered.

I stayed silent.

"Are you okay?" George asked. I didn't answer.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Fred consoled, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder.

"Kind of." I shrugged. I never had anyone to talk to about life at the Manor before, and it would help to lift the weight of it all off my chest.

Fred gave me an encouraging smile. "Go ahead."

"We're listening," George added.

"Well, they've always hated me for being a Silverwood, you know," I began. "The whole feud, you know. So I don't know who decided to make them my godparents, but whoever it was was an idiot. So, I'm placing my bets on Voldemort."

The twins gasped. "Don't say the name!"

"It's not like he can hear us," I assured them with a chuckle. "And if he _is_ watching over me, he probably hates me enough already that saying his name won't change a thing."

"True," Fred said. "Anyways, go on about the Malfoys. If you want to, I mean."

"Well, where do I start?" I let out a nervous laugh. "Basically, they think I've ruined their reputation. Being the godparents of Vol—You-Know-Who's daughter puts a big black mark on your record. I don't know what he's complaining about, though, he's still well-respected, well-connected in the Ministry, the richest wizard alive… but I guess I have made him lose some credibility."

George scoffed. "If they wanted a good reputation, they shouldn't have been Death Eaters in the first place."

"I second that."

"Sorry, go on."

"I mean, I've told you everything there is to tell you," I said." They hate me. They think I'm just inherently useless, tell me that every chance they get… well, most of the time they don't pay attention to me… don't care if I eat, never bothered to teach me how to read or write—"

"You don't know how to read?" Fred and George exclaimed, exchanging incredulous glances.

"No, the butler, Manuel, taught me." They sighed in relief. "He taught me Spanish, too. Only person in that place I can stand."

"But they're your _godparents_ ," Fred emphasized. "Who would put you in the care of someone who hates you?"

"Volde—" I paused at their cringing. "You-Know-Who, I mean. _Pendejo._ "

"I don't know what that means, but I'm guessing it's an insult," George said.

"You guessed right."

"Sadie," Fred began, hesitance in his voice, "the Malfoys don't… they don't _hit_ you, do they?"

"Well, of course they do," I answered with ease, confused by the lack of necessity of their question. "Don't your parents hit you when you mess up, too?"

Utter horror covered both of their faces. "No!"

I stared at them, confused. "What? Why not?"

"Merlin, Sadie," George started, distraught. "Parents hitting their children isn't normal at all. The worst our mum's ever done is lecture us."

Fred seemed equally concerned. "And sure, some of mum's lectures sound like they're coming from the devil himself, but what you're describing is child abuse, Sadie. It's _illegal._ "

This was certainly news to me. Lucius had always called it "discipline," and although I hated him beating me, I figured I must have done something to deserve it. I didn't think for a moment that it was out of the norm, that there were people whose parents only gave them a strict talking-to. Of course I knew that Lucius's resentment of me was quite unfair, but I never considered his strictness to be abuse. "Illegal?" I questioned. "Not normal? You're just making stuff up."

"You do realize you have to report this to someone," Fred urged, "right?"

In that instant, I realized I shouldn't have been telling them this at all. Lucius would kill me if I threatened his reputation any further—let alone reported something that was apparently illegal. "There's nothing to report," I denied. "It's fine, honestly. There isn't a problem."

Fred sighed. "But there _is_ a prob—"

"There isn't. I promise."

I saw Fred and George exchange some secret, troubled twin look out of the corner of my eye. "We were about to go to Honeydukes," George informed me. "Want to come with us?"

I realized they were only inviting me out of pity. "You don't have to—"

"We insist," Fred coaxed.

"But—"

"We _insist_ ," Fred and George repeated in unison.

"Okay, fine," I conceded, even though I felt guilty I was crashing their party. "But I thought we weren't allowed to leave the common room."

"No." A left-leaning smirk appeared on George's face. "That's why nobody has to know."

George took out a rolled-up sheet of parchment from his jacket pocket and unrolled it. It appeared blank, but George gave it a gentle tap with his wand and said, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." Suddenly, words spread out on the page. It was as if an inkling was dropped in the center and spread out into beautiful, bold print that (I think) read:

 _MESSRS. MOONY, WORMTAIL, PADFOOT, AND PRONGS ARE PROUD TO PRESENT:_

 _THE MARAUDER'S MAP_

More words in smaller writing painted themselves below the title, like a sort of conversation:

 _Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs would like to welcome Miss Silverwood. Remember, it's not illegal if you don't get caught._

 _Mr. Moony would like to proudly state that he has never been caught._

 _Messrs. Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs would like to tell Mr. Moony to shut up._

Below the writing was a blueprint of a castle, with groups of names scattered throughout it. To my surprise, the names "Fred Weasley," "George Weasley," and "Sadie Silverwood" were located in the same room with dots next to them. In two adjoining rooms, I could make out the names "Lavender Brown", "Fay Dunbar", "Seamus Finnigan", and "Neville Longbottom" out of the cluster of letters and dots.

"It's a map of Hogwarts, isn't it?" I wondered aloud.

"Correct," Fred said. "It tracks everyone in the castle."

"Where they are—" George continued.

"—what they're doing—"

"—every minute—"

"—of every day."

"And, it shows seven passages to Hogsmeade. This one," George traced a path with his finger, "leads straight into Honeydukes. And we're the only ones who know about it."

"Cool," was all I could say in my stunned state.

Fred smile, his gaze focused on the map. "We owe everything to Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs."

"Who are they?"

"We don't know. We nicked the map from Filch in detention," George explained, "and haven't gotten one since. Come on, we should get going."

We checked the Marauder's Map for names near Gryffindor tower, and seeing as our biggest threats were sleeping students, we left. It was pitch black, but Fred muttered " _Lumos_ ," and a ball of light emerged from the tip of his wand to aid our vision. He waved his now torch-like wand over the Marauder's Map again, and we saw that Peeves and Mrs. Norris were the only two moving dots in the castle. They were far enough away that there was no reason to worry, but we still kept an eye on them. Snape and Quirrell were in their offices, which was strange, since it was the middle of the night.

"Snape has an irrational fear of shampoo," Fred joked in a whisper. "It must keep him up at night." I held in a laugh.

The tiny dots of ink labeled with our names had almost reached the third floor when we saw Snape's and Quirrell's dots moving towards us.

George gestured for us to follow him, and we tiptoed halfway down the corridor that Snape and Quirrell were approaching. I didn't dare ask what he was was thinking, for fear of being heard, but, to my relief, he had a plan. He tapped the left wall with his wand and muttered an incantation so quickly and quietly that I couldn't understand a single syllable. At his words, a door appeared in front of us. "In here!" George mouthed, and we rushed through it into what looked like a hidden storage room. We all rested against the wall and caught our breath as the door vanished, leaving no trace of our narrow escape. The twins put a finger up to their mouth to tell me to be quiet. I nodded in understanding.

On the map, Snape and Quirrell turned into the corridor we were on, and stopped right in front of the hidden room.

"So?" an assertive, almost merciless voice demanded. I assumed it was Snape.

"W-what?" I could barely hear the trembling voice, yet I recognized Quirrell's stutter.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," Snape snapped.

"I still d-don't understand w-why you w-wanted us to—"

"Have you figured it out yet?" Snape asked, his patience running out.

"F-f-figured out what?"

"You know perfectly well," Snape seethed in a tone that sent shivers down our spines, and probably Quirrell's, too. "I've given you all summer."

"I-I d-don't—"

"Very well," Snape interrupted. There was a silence until Snape lowered his voice, making me strain to hear what he was saying. "I'll give you some more time, and by our next little chat, you better have decided where your loyalties lie."

There was a loud thump that made all of us flinch, and Snape's dot on the map rushed away. Quirrell, whom Snape must have pushed down, took longer to start moving in the opposite direction. Once both dots were on different floors than us, George tapped the wall with his wand again, saying the incantation much clearer this time: " _Ostium revelio_." The door appeared again, and George opened it a crack to peek around the corner before signaling us that the coast was clear. We exited, and the door sealed itself back into the wall.

"What was that about?" I whispered.

"I'm not sure," Fred whispered back. "George?"

"I'm not sure, either," George said.

"Kinda creepy, don't you think?" I said.

"I wouldn't worry about it," George assured, but the quaver in his voice could rival Quirrell's. "Snape's a creep in general."

All three of us shut our mouths and continued along the corridor. We came to a stop at a statue of a humpbacked, one-eyed witch. Fred tapped the statue with his wand and said " _Dissendium_ ". The middle of the hump opened up, and the hole it had created kept expanding until it became human-sized, revealing a secret passageway. We each stepped in, and Fred and George led me through the twists and turns of the dark and mysterious corridor.

"So, why are you going to Honeydukes?" I inquired, no longer whispering. "I mean, don't third years get to go Hogsmeade anyway?" Hogsmeade was the town next to Hogwarts where Honeydukes was located.

"We don't get to go until later in the year," Fred explained.

"Besides, sneaking out adds the element of fun," George chuckled. "We buy some candy from Honeydukes and sell it to other students for more than we bought it for. Always make a good profit. Problem is, most of our friends are going to realize we've been ripping them off for the past couple years when we all go to Honeydukes on our first Hogsmeade trip."

"I think we can afford to lower the prices a bit, though, considering how successful we've been," Fred said with certainty.

"Yeah, and if you sell it for less than Honeydukes, then more people will be willing to buy," I pointed out. "So you'd still make good money."

"Well, we wouldn't want to compete with Honeydukes, per say," George argued, "but I suppose you're right."

After a few minutes, we reached a worn staircase, which led to an equally worn trapdoor. Fred opened it and hoisted himself up onto the floor above, then offered a hand to help me through. George followed, closing the trapdoor behind him. He clapped twice, and the room lit up at once.

One look at Honeydukes filled me with a rush of excitement. The shelves were stocked with candies the same bright, joyful colors as the baby blue wallpaper. They had every sweet you could possibly think of: Fizzing Whizzbees, Chocolate Frogs, Liquorice Wands, Sugar Quills, and plenty more. Free samples of Honeydukes Signature Chocolate laid on the desk in front of us, next to a bell that George rang three times.

A door behind the desk opened, and a tall, old, friendly faced wizard emerged from it. He was wearing a collared plaid shirt with a red tie and a black beanie, his grey hair sticking out from underneath. He smiled at the sight of Fred and George, as if they were old friends.

"Sadie, this is Ambrosius Flume," George said. "He owns Honeydukes. Am, this is Sadie. A friend of ours." I couldn't help but smile at his use of the word "friend."

I held out a hand, and Ambrosius reached for it over the counter, but faltered for a split second. The recognition was visible in his eyes, but the surprise left his face as he said, "A friend of Fred and George is a friend of mine." I beamed as he shook my hand. "Welcome to Honeydukes." He turned to Fred and George. "The usual, I presume?"

"As always," Fred confirmed, placing a handful of Sickles on the counter. "Plus something a little extra."

"Go ahead," George said to me. "Pick out anything you like."

"I don't have money with me—"

"Don't worry about it, really."

I felt bad, but I wasn't going to pass up their offer. It was candy, for Merlin's sake. "Anything?"

"Anything," Fred and George said in unison.

"And take a sample while you're at it," Ambrosius added, gesturing to the tray filled with fudge. "There's plenty for each of you."

I took a long look around the store deciding what to get. I had too many Chocolate Frog cards, Sugar Quills were too bland, and Peppermint Toads were too expensive. I decided on the treacle tart, one of my favorites, which a sign said costed a reasonable four Sickles ("Good choice," Ambrosius had said). After how upset the Howler had made me, I had the urge to steal something to cope, but I resisted it after realizing that wouldn't be a great way to thank Fred and George. I made a mental note to pay them back every Knut in the morning.

We each took a sample of fudge from the tray (which tasted like a chocolatey paradise), thanked Ambrosius, and ducked back into the corridor through the trapdoor.

"So, you really don't care?" I asked as we stepped back down the stairs.

"About what?" Fred and George said.

"You know, that I'm the reincarnation of Satan," I clarified.

"Should we?" Fred laughed. "It's not like You-Know-Who raised you himself."

"Yeah, I don't get why everyone's so scared of you," George added. "I mean, you're what, three foot?"

"Thanks, George," I muttered through a mouthful of treacle tart.

"I'm Fred, actually. He's George."

"No, you're not," I said, having seen them play this trick before. "Fred's hair stands up more than yours. And your smile curls a bit upwards to the left. Fred's doesn't."

"Merlin's beard," George said to Fred. "She's known us for a few days and she can tell us apart better than our own mum!"

"Well, when you're pushed to the sidelines a lot, you start to notice things," Fred said. "Don't you, Sadie?"

"Yeah," I replied. "I guess you do."

I had never met anyone like Fred and George Weasley. The only other person who had looked past my heritage was Manuel, but he had lived with me for six years before we started to become friends. Even Harry lashed out when he first discovered who I was. But Fred and George were different; they made me feel like I belonged at Hogwarts. Even though the Howler had tried to hurt me, they made sure it failed. And for the first time in my life, I felt invincible to Lucius Malfoy.


	7. Some Really Petty Drama

**VI. Some Really Petty Drama**

"Sadie Whatever-Your-Middle-Name-Is Silverwood!" an infuriated Hermione shouted, hitting me with a pillow to wake me up.

"Alba," I yawned.

"What?"

"That's my middle name. Alba."

"Oh, cool! Mine's Jean." She took a deep breath and returned to her angry state. "Where were you last night? I stayed up past midnight waiting for you to come back! How long was that Howler?"

"Not long." I grinned. "But you sound an awful lot like it right now."

"Whatever," she muttered. "At least I got some studying in."

"It's the first week of school, Hermione. What could you possibly be studying for?"

"Flying lessons, of course!" she shouted. Her outburst woke up Fay Dunbar, who shushed us and promptly fell back asleep.

"Flying lessons?" I asked in hushed voice.

"Didn't you read the notice in the common room? You were down there for hours," she hissed. I spotted the dark circles under her eyes and felt a twinge of guilt for keeping her up so late.

"What notice?"

"The one about—hm, I don't know—flying lessons!" she snapped. "They start Thursday and I still have zero idea what to do! I've read every sentence of Quidditch Through the Ages, but it's just not something you can learn from a book, I suppose." She slumped down onto her bed, defeated.

"It's not as hard as it looks, okay?" I said. "You just have to get on a broom and... do things." I realized how difficult it was to put broom-riding into words. There's no way to describe the freedom of soaring through the air, and there's no way to explain how. You just have to experience it.

"How helpful," Hermione said through gritted teeth. "You still haven't told me where you were last night."

I considered telling her about Honeydukes, but I remembered that Fred, George, and I had broken curfew last night, and Hermione loathed rule-breaking. Getting Fred and George in trouble was the worst possible way to repay them. Besides, I didn't want to make her jealous. I snuck out with third years on the first weekend of school. I was friends with upperclassmen. The last thing I would want to do was make her feel like I was cooler than her.

"I fell asleep on the couches downstairs, okay?" I lied. "I woke up in the middle of the night, so I came up here. Satisfied?" She seemed suspicious, but eventually accepted my answer and walked away to get dressed.

Hermione's interrogation reminded me I still owed Fred and George money for the treacle fudge. Remembering it cost four Sickles, I grabbed six Sickles (some extra money for gratitude) out of my bag and left for the Great Hall.

Fred and George were already in the common room, playing a game of wizard's chess, which I interrupted.

"This is for the fudge," I offered, holding out the Sickles in my palm.

"It was only four—"

"Keep the change," I insisted, cutting George off.

I dropped the coins in front of them and rejoined Hermione, leaving them no time to protest.

"What was that about?" she asked.

"Nothing," I lied.

Then, my eyes caught the notice on the wall Hermione had told me about:

 _Gryffindor and Slytherin flying lessons begin on Thursday at 3:30 PM._

"Gryffindor _and_ Slytherin?" I grimaced. That meant I'd have to spend four and a half hours with Draco every week, which was almost as much time as I spent with him at the Manor. And I was not looking forward to it.

The week seemed to fly by, and Thursday came much more quickly than I would've liked. Harry made it clear that he felt the same way.

"Great," he muttered. "I've always wanted to make a fool of myself in front of Malfoy."

"You won't make a fool of yourself," Ron assured. "Malfoy's been going on about how great he is at Quidditch, but I'm sure it's all talk."

"Well..." I said, letting my voice trail off.

"'Well,' _what_?" Harry asked.

"He's not good, is he?" Ron worried.

"Flying may or may not be the one thing he's capable of," I forced myself to admit. "Besides being a complete git."

"But he's not _great_ , right?"

"He's better than me," I admitted.

"How good are you?" Harry asked, hoping I would tell him how wretched and untalented I was.

"Pretty decent, but I haven't flown in a while. So I might be a bit rusty."

Ron sighed. "Let's just hope Malfoy is, too."

The upcoming lessons were the most popular topic at breakfast. Everyone was sharing their experiences on a broom.

"The first time I rode a broom was a bit of a disaster, to be honest," I told my fellow Gryffindors. "All I remember is flying at a tree and waking up to a broken leg…and a broken broom, too."

Hermione listed off tips from _Quidditch Through the Ages_ while Neville, whose grandmother had never let him ride a broom, absorbed every word.

"What if I crash into a tree and break my leg, too?" he worried.

"You'll be fine," I assured him. "I was five when that happened. And I was a pretty pathetic five-year-old. Don't worry, you're much more capable than that." Ron rolled his eyes at my statement, mouthing "I beg to differ."

"It's not as hard as it looks," said Hermione, mimicking my advice from a few days ago. "You just have to get on a broom and do things, right, Sadie?"

"Right," I muttered.

Hundreds of owls fluttered in, interrupting our conversation. It was no use searching for Firefly in the crowd. I didn't expect to get anything but another Howler, even though Draco received a package of sweets from home every day. It was almost as if the Malfoys played favorites or something.

It may be worth noting that I had received another letter from Manuel, in plain, legible print this time, explaining that he had no idea who Snape was and the other professor he was talking about must have retired. I cursed the previous Potions master for being old.

Neville received a letter from his grandmother every Thursday, so it was no surprise when his barn owl swooped down to the Gryffindor table. But today, the owl clutched a small red package between its talons, tied with a golden ribbon. Neville ripped open the wrapping paper at once, and pulled out a clear, spherical object filled with white smoke. He squeezed the ball, and the smoke faded into a deep red, replacing Neville's excitement with confusion.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"It's a Remembrall," Neville explained. "If the smoke turns red, it means you've forgotten something... the problem is, I can't remember what I've forgotten..." He looked down at his grey shirt and black tie in dismay.

"Neville, your robes," I said.

"What about my—" He stopped mid-sentence as he noticed what he had left behind that morning. "My robes!" he exclaimed, oblivious to the fact Draco and his henchman were standing right behind him.

Draco snatched the Remembrall out of Neville's hand, only adding to the latter's panic. Harry, Ron, and I jumped out of our seats, ready to get Neville's Remembrall back, but McGonagall got there first.

"What is going on?" she fumed.

"Malfoy took my Remembrall, Professor," Neville said.

"Just looking," Draco mumbled as he handed over Neville's possession in defeat. He sulked away with Crabbe and Goyle, refusing to make eye contact with McGonagall. I tried to telepathically will her to take points from Slytherin, but she went back to the High Table without another word.

I wanted Charms and Transfiguration to last forever, but the dreaded flying lessons arrived soon enough. If nothing else, it was the perfect day for flying. The sun lit up the emerald grass, and a cool breeze rippled through the air. But the teacher, Madam Hooch, didn't look as nice as the weather. Her grey hair was short and spiky and a hawkish expression was frozen on her face. Even her name sounded harsh. Her personality was no different.

"What are you waiting for?" she demanded. "Hurry up and find a broomstick!"

We all rushed to the center of the field where two rows of broomsticks lay on the ground. Naturally, the Slytherins gathered on one side and the Gryffindors on the other.

"Now, put your wand hand out in front of you and say 'Up!' nice and firm," Hooch instructed.

We barely allowed her to finish her sentence before attempting to get our broomsticks off the ground. I stretched out my left hand, imagined the broom leaping off the grass, and shouted "Up!" in the most commanding voice I could muster. Mine shot up on the first try, along with Draco's and, to my surprise, Harry's. Hooch continued shouting tips over the cacophony of "up"s.

I looked over to my right to see Hermione's broom rolling in a circle as she angrily shouted at it to get off the ground.

"Don't get frustrated," I told her. "Be firm, not angry. And try to imagine the broom lifting itself up." She took a deep breath and tried again, following my advice. A couple of attempts later, the broom shot into her hand, nearly giving her a heart attack. She let out a squeal of joy at her success.

Neville was the last to gain control of his broom. As soon as he did, Hooch showed us the proper way to mount them. She scolded Draco and told him that he had been riding his backwards for years, and used me as an example of how to do it right. I mouthed "told you so" to Draco, basking in my glory.

"Now," Hooch began, "when I blow my whistle, kick off the ground, rise in the air a few feet—and a few feet _only_ —and then land by slightly leaning forward. On my mark—one—two—"

But before she blew the whistle, Neville's nerves got the best of him. He kicked off the grass much harder than he should've and sent himself flying at an alarming rate. The broom rose dozens of feet in the air, swerving every which way, until it flipped over sideways and threw him off the side. He held onto the stick with one hand, desperately trying to pull himself up. Then, he made a fatal mistake: he looked down. His face whitened with fear, and his hand began to slip. We gasped as he lost his grip and came crashing towards us.

I turned away as he fell, dreading the results. There was a thump and a loud crack, and I hoped it wasn't his spine.

"Please don't be dead, please don't be dead..." Hooch muttered. "I don't want to do all that paperwork again..."

I opened my eyes to see a shuddering Neville rocking back and forth, clutching his wrist. I let out a sigh of relief from the knowledge that he was alive.

"Broken wrist," Hooch announced. "Come on, get up. Let's get you to the hospital wing..." She helped Neville stand before turning to face us. "If any of you leave the ground while I'm gone, you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch!'"

She helped Neville limp towards the castle, and not one person dared move a muscle until the two were out of sight. As soon as they left, Draco burst out laughing.

"Did you see his face?" he taunted, leading the rest of the Slytherins in a chorus of jeers against Neville. "Longbottom can't ride a broom to save his life!"

"I'd like to see you do better!" Parvati Patil challenged.

"I will, then!" Draco said before he caught something about of the corner of his eye.

I followed his line of vision to a small, shiny, object lying in the grass.

Neville's Remembrall.

"Look!" he exclaimed with a fake tone of excitement. "It's that dumb thing Longbottom's gran sent him!" He picked it up and tossed it in his hand.

"Malfoy, give it here," Harry said. Everyone fell silent to watch.

Draco ignored Harry and continued playing with the Remembrall.

I stepped forward. "Draco, give it."

"Why should I?"

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, _give it_."

A chorus of oohs erupted from the class at my use of his full name. If Draco was at all embarrassed, he didn't let it show.

"Maybe I should put it somewhere for Longbottom to find," he said, mounting his broom. "Up a tree, perhaps?" With a kick off the ground, he rose through the air effortlessly. Before any of us could blink, Harry was chasing after Draco on his broom.

"Harry, don't!" Hermione shouted. "You'll get expelled!"

Harry ignored Hermione and continued pursuing Draco. It came to him so naturally that you never would have guessed it was his first time flying. He flew straight at Draco, gliding with such speed that the latter barely got out of the way in time. I could see worry in his face for a second, but he continued gaining height, shouting "Catch it if you can, Potter!"

Draco threw the ball in the air and dove back to the ground, smirking. There seemed to be no hope of saving it, but Harry was determined. He darted towards the ball at an almost impossible speed. Just as we were sure the Remembrall would hit the ground, his hand swooped down to meet the grass, and the Remembrall fell straight in the center of his palm. The class burst into cheers and applause while I stood open-mouthed, wishing I had that kind of talent to combat Draco.

"HARRY POTTER!"

The cheering came to an abrupt halt. Harry's eyes widened as he turned to face McGonagall.

"Never... in all my years..."

"Professor, it wasn't his fault!" I blurted.

"Yeah, Malfoy started it!" Ron defended.

More defenses erupted from the crowd. Harry stayed silent, but he was frozen out of pure fear.

"Enough!" McGonagall snapped, ending our protests. The silence was deafening. She seemed to be calculating how to punish him: losing house points, detention, expulsion…

"Potter," she finally said, "come with me. Now."

Harry hung his head low and followed her to the castle. I found myself suffering the worst form of guilt: when you can't do anything to help the situation, but feel at fault all the same.

"Good riddance!" Draco exclaimed, and his friends cheered in agreement. I wanted to take a thousand points from Slytherin. He would always get away with things at my expense, but how could I stand by and let him do it to my best friends? My hand formed into a fist, ready to strike, but Hermione grabbed my arm to stop me.

"What are you doing?" she whispered. "Do you want to get expelled, too?"

I forced myself to relax. I figured I'd get back at him later.

Madam Hooch returned without Neville, and the flying class continued as normal. She didn't even seem to notice that Harry was gone.

It turned out I wasn't as rusty as I thought. We practiced rising and landing for the small remainder of class, and I completed the task with ease. But with what happened to Harry, I didn't feel at ease whatsoever. I knew all too well that he would be expelled, but what would they do to him in the meantime? According to Fred and George, hitting children isn't socially acceptable, but I couldn't help but worry.

After she dismissed us, I went straight to dinner without a word to Draco. I assumed Harry would have to leave immediately after eating, and I wanted to say my goodbyes.

Harry was at the dinner table, just as I had expected. There wasn't a single bruise on his face, but there wasn't a trace of sadness, either. In fact, he looked _delighted_. He was eating and chatting with Fred and George as if he had never been in trouble. Ron and I sat next to him, as usual, and asked him what happened with McGonagall.

"Expelled? Oh no, she didn't expel me," Harry explained, to my relief. "She made me Gryffindor Seeker! That's good, right?"

A small part of me was hoping he would get expelled, just to see Harry Potter have to face serious consequences for once. But of course, he was _rewarded_ for breaking the rules. If _I_ was in his position, I'd be expelled in the blink of an eye. But no, not the beloved Harry Potter.

"That's great," I said through gritted teeth and a forced smile. "So, how did you manage to do all that, anyways? You told me you've never ridden a broom!"

"It was easy. I just got on a broom and did things. Like Hermione said to at breakfast." I was glad my advice came to some use.

"First years never get picked for Quidditch," Ron pointed out. "You must be the youngest Seeker in a century!"

"Wood told us about you," George said. "You must be good. He was pretty excited about it."

"We're on the team too," Fred said. "We're Beaters. Wood will explain it all to you, I'm sure. Have to warn you, though, his Quidditch captaining is a bit intense."

George nodded. "He takes it _very_ seriously."

"Anyways, we have to go. Lee Jordan reckons he found a new secret passage."

"Probably the one behind Gregory the Smarmy we found our first week."

"Whatever," Fred mumbled. They waved goodbye and walked off.

"Did Malfoy get in trouble?" Harry asked. "For flying?"

"Sadly, no," Ron said, to which Harry sighed.

"This is normal," I said, stabbing at my chicken. "He always gets away with things by blaming other people—mainly me—and I'm sick of it."

"Then why don't we turn the tables?" Harry suggested.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Get revenge."

"Revenge on Malfoy?" Ron exclaimed. "Count me in."

"Funny you're talking about getting revenge on me," Draco said from behind Ron and Harry, making us jump in our alarm. "How are you going to do that if you're back home with the Muggles?" He stretched out the last word with disgust.

"You're a lot braver now that you're on the ground with your little friends to protect you, aren't you?" Harry retorted, glancing between Crabbe and Goyle. "Sorry about your luck, Malfoy, but I wasn't expelled. In fact, I'm the youngest Seeker in a century now!"

Draco's jaw dropped. "How—"

"Karma." Harry shrugged.

"Look, Potter," Draco spat. "I could take you on and earn points for Slytherin any day. They might even give me a trophy."

"You think you're so tough on your own?" Harry mocked. "Prove it."

"Oh, I will," Draco snapped. "Tonight. Wizard's duel—wands only, no contact. You up for it?"

"Anytime."

"I'll be his second," Ron volunteered, jumping to his feet. "Who's yours?"

"Crabbe," Draco said, leaving a hurt look on Goyle's face. "Meet me in the trophy room at midnight. Unless you're too scared."

The three strutted away laughing, giving Harry an opportunity to discuss the plan with us.

"Question," Harry announced. "What's a wizard's duel?"

"It's a fight where you can only use wands, no contact, like Draco said," I explained, angry at him for agreeing to something he knew nothing about.

"Fantastic," Harry muttered. "And what do you mean you're my second, Ron? And why did I agree to this?"

"A second's there to take your place if you die," Ron answered.

"If I _what_?"

"And you agreed to this because you're an idiot," interjected Hermione, who was now standing over Harry with a worried, but disappointed expression on her face.

"First of all," Harry began, "can we eat in peace, please? Second of all, what's this about me dying?"

"I'm sorry, but I just couldn't help but overhear what you were saying to Malfoy," Hermione said, ignoring Harry's second question. "You shouldn't do it. Ron's right, you could die!"

"I never said he could die!" Ron defended. "I just said I'm there in case he does. Which he _won't_. Not even Malfoy knows enough magic to do any real damage."

While the arguing continued, I wondered why Draco would even suggest a one-on-one duel. Ever since he met Crabbe and Goyle, he's had them do all his fighting for him. He's had them beat me up for him on multiple occasions, sometimes just for his own amusement. Was he brave enough to fight on his own?

No, he wasn't.

Maybe Draco predicted Harry wouldn't agree to the duel and he would've proven Harry a coward. Maybe he would back out now that Harry accepted his challenge. Or what if he was planning to back out from the beginning?

Draco tried to get Harry in trouble just an hour ago. He almost succeeded, but instead ended up turning his enemy into a star Quidditch player. But if there's one thing I know about Draco, it's that he doesn't give up easily. What if this was all part of his master plan to get Harry expelled?

"Maybe Hermione's right," I admitted. "This could be a bad idea."

"What?" Harry questioned, taken aback. "One minute ago you were all 'yeah, I'm sick of that Malfoy guy, except I call him Draco because I'm weird, let's fight him', and now you're saying this is a bad idea?"

"Okay, first of all, I call him Draco because I live with two other Malfoys."

The horror of this realization became evident on Harry's face. "I'm so sorry."

"So am I," I grumbled. "Second of all, Harry, you were already almost expelled once today. At least wait twenty-four hours before you do something stupid again."

"And you'll lose points for Gryffindor!" Hermione pointed out. "You're bound to get caught, with Filch, and Mrs. Norris, and all the ghosts—"

"Fine," Ron said. "You goody-two-shoes can go follow the rules all you want, and Harry and I will go do something with our lives."

"That's really selfish of you—"

"And it's really none of your business," Harry retorted. "Come on, Ron." They darted out of the hall.

"They'll get themselves expelled," Hermione said with a sigh.

"You'll help me stop them, won't you?" I asked.

"How?"

"We don't let them leave the common room. Simple as that."

"I'm _not_ staying up till midnight again—"

"I guess we'll just have to let them lose a couple hundred points for Gryffindor, then..."

"Fine," she conceded. "I'll go with you."

And so, at half-past eleven, once everyone was asleep, Hermione and I snuck down to the common room in our pajamas. When we arrived, Harry and Ron were only footsteps away from the portrait hole.

"You're _not_ leaving this room," I threatened. They both froze, startled, and turned around with an exasperated sigh.

"You've got to be kidding me," Ron muttered.

"Could you just stay out of this?" Harry said.

"Not when you're going to lose points for Gryffindor!" Hermione cried, causing both Harry and Ron to roll their eyes.

"Look, I know Draco better than any of you," I said, "and he wouldn't fight someone without Crabbe and Goyle. Can't even beat me up himself and I'm weak and underfed, so what does that tell you?"

"It tells me to be very concerned about your home life," Ron worried. I forgot that wasn't normal.

I ignore him and changed the subject. "And the other thing about Draco is that he'll stop at nothing to get what he wants. What he wants is to get Harry expelled."

"Your point is?" Harry said, checking his watch.

I rolled my eyes at his obliviousness. "Don't you get it? He's not going to show up. This is probably all part of some elaborate plan to get you caught sneaking out at night."

"Or maybe he's waiting for us as we speak, and if I don't show up, he'll make sure the whole school knows I backed out. And it'll be your fault." Harry disregarded all of my advice and pushed open the portrait hole and stepped through, Ron following close behind. But Hermione and I weren't giving up that easily. We rushed through the door, determined to stop them before it was too late.

Suddenly, the door closed with a startling slam. Surprised and a bit confused, we turned around—to face an empty portrait. The Fat Lady had left her frame, leaving us stuck out here. We were bound to get caught. I wished we had a Marauder's Map of our own.

"Oh no, we've been locked out!" Ron whined sarcastically. "Whatever shall we do?"

"See? Even the portrait doesn't want to stop us," Harry said. Hermione and I resisted the urge to scream.

"We're coming with you, then," Hermione said.

" _What?_ "

"We have no choice now, thanks to you," I pointed out.

"Fine," Harry grumbled, "but if we get caught, we're blaming you two."

"No, you're not," Hermione demanded. "If we get caught, we'll tell Filch that we were trying to stop you and got locked out. And you'll back us up." I nodded in agreement.

Ron's eyes narrowed in frustration. "You little—"

"You owe us," I said. "You're the ones who got us into this mess—"

"Shut up!" Harry whispered. "I hear something."

We all fell silent as we crept down the corridor. We looked at each other in panic as the sound breathing echoed off the walls, fearing it might be Mrs. Norris. We reached the corner, cautiously peered around the edge, and, to our surprise, saw a sleeping Neville curled up on the ground, shivering from the cold.

We tried to tiptoe past him, but he woke up in an instant. He jumped to his feet at the sight of us, a smile appearing on his face.

"Thank goodness you guys found me!" he yelled with relief. We all tried to signal for him to be quiet, but he didn't notice. "I forgot the password, so I had to sleep out here. I haven't made human contact in forever—" I put a hand over his mouth to make him shut up.

"The password's 'pig snout'," I whispered, "but the Fat Lady's gone, so it's useless at the moment. Now, we have places to be, so we'll see you later, okay?" I put a finger to my lips to tell Neville to be quiet and uncovered his mouth.

"Don't leave me out here!" he said in a hushed voice. "I've been alone for hours, and the Bloody Baron's creeping me out..."

We all exchanged reluctant looks, until Harry motioned for him to join us.

"If you get us caught, I'll learn how to do that Curse of the Bogies Quirrell's been talking about it and I'll use it on you," Ron threatened.

We fell silent again and continued sneaking to the trophy room, finally reaching it at five past midnight. And just as I predicted, Draco was nowhere to be found. But we weren't alone.

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be in a corner," a raspy voice said.

Filch.

We all slowly backed away from the direction of the voice. Harry pointed to the left, where Gryffindor Tower was, and we followed him down the corridor, tiptoeing as quickly and quietly as possible.

"They're here somewhere," Filch said in the distance. His and Ms. Norris's footsteps drew nearer and nearer, making Neville scream and jump back into a suit of armor. We all froze and gave him death glare, knowing we were in serious trouble now. The footsteps were now darting towards us, becoming louder, and louder, until—

" _RUN_!" Harry screamed at the top of his lungs (an idiot move), and we ran towards Gryffindor Tower, knocking over various objects we didn't have the opportunity to identify. We made it to the Charms corridor, thinking we'd lost Filch, but something blocked our path.

A ghost in a jester outfit was hovering in front of us: Peeves.

"Oooooh!" he squealed in delight. "Ickle first years! Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty!"

"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves. Please," Harry begged.

Peeves simply cackled again.

"Get out of the way!" Ron swiped at Peeves, which proved to be the biggest mistake any of us made that night.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves called out, loud enough to wake up of all of Scotland. "STUDENTS IN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

We didn't need to hear Filch's footsteps to go bolting past Peeves. Unfortunately for us, the corridor stopped at a door with a padlock on it. The running footsteps were drawing nearer, and there was nowhere to go.

"This is it!" Ron panicked. "We're done for! And if Filch doesn't kill me, Mum will! I don't know which is worse!"

"Oh, would you stop it?" Hermione groaned. " _Alohamora_."

The padlock came undone and the door swung open. We hurried through and shut the door, and the lock clicked shut on its own. We all let out sighs of relief, only to freeze again at the sound of Filch's voice.

"Which way did they go, Peeves?" he asked. "Tell me!"

"Say 'please'," Peeves requested.

"I don't have time for this, Peeves."

"Shan't say nothing if you don't say 'please'."

"Fine. Please."

"NOTHING!" Peeves cackled. "Told you I shan't say nothing if you don't say 'please'!"

"If you were still alive, I'd murder you."

"I'm flattered."

"I think we're safe," Harry whispered. "And Neville, would you stop that?" Neville was tugging on Harry's bathrobe, refusing to let go. "What is it?" Harry demanded. Neville pointed a trembling finger behind us, and we turned around to face something that made Filch seem like a harmless kitten.

Towering over us was a three-headed dog-like creature ten times the size of an elephant. We staggered backwards at his growls, trapped between two horrors. "I'd rather get expelled than killed," Harry whispered before throwing open the door. Luckily, Filch and Peeves were out of sight.

We didn't stop sprinting until we reached the portrait hole, which was now complete with the Fat Lady.

"Where have you all been?" she inquired.

"Doesn't matter," Harry said, gasping for breath. "Pig snout, pig snout..."

The portrait hole swung open and we scrambled through it without a second of hesitation.

"What did I tell you?" I said.

"Can't remember," Harry said. "I'm still kind of processing that whole near-death experience thing."

"It was a trick," I reminded him. "Admit it. I was right."

Ron narrowed his eyes. "You don't have to be so—"

" _Admit it._ "

"Fine," Ron and Harry mumbled.

"Moral of story: Listen to me."

Hermione loudly cleared her throat.

"And Hermione," I added.

"Anyone else wondering about that—that _thing_?" Ron asked.

"Don't any of you use your eyes?" Hermione said. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?"

"The floor, you mean?"

"A trapdoor, you dimwits!" Hermione snapped. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed before you come up with another clever idea to get us killed—or worse, expelled." Although I was a bit worried about her priorities, I began to follow Hermione to our dormitory.

"Trust me, we don't mind," Harry mumbled. I shot him a quick glare.

Hermione was right. That three-headed dog was guarding something, and I was determined to figure it out.


	8. Some Really Petty Drama (Reprise)

**VII. Some Really Petty Drama (Reprise)**

October arrived. The trees in the courtyard swayed in the cool wind as their golden leaves fell to the ground. Autumn wreaths and candles decorated the corridors, and floating pumpkins filled the great hall. Even though I had only been there for a month, Hogwarts already felt more like home than Malfoy Manor ever had. But the lovely autumn atmosphere did nothing to solve the drama between Harry, Ron, Hermione and me.

Hermione refused to speak to Harry and Ron, but they didn't seem to mind. I, on the other hand, wasn't sure which side to take. I was friends with all three of them, but I did take Hermione's side the night of the supposed wizard's duel. Since I figured the boys didn't want much to do with me either, I stuck with her.

The more time I spent with Hermione, the more homework I was obliged to do. It was unpleasant at first, but I learned to be grateful for her forcing me out of procrastination. And she was always happy to read anything aloud for me, which was a huge help. We spent most of our time in the library, trying to avoid Harry and Ron as much as possible, but it was hard to avoid your classmates. Especially when you shared both a schedule and living quarters.

"If we see them, we walk in the other direction," I had advised her. "We don't look at them, we don't wave to them, and we don't engage in any social interaction. It would be too awkward."

She agreed and we headed back to Gryffindor Tower. And of course, we couldn't even walk through the halls without having to face our newfound enemies.

"Well, it's true," Harry was saying to Ron, running up the stairs with a broomstick-shaped package. "If Malfoy hadn't stolen Neville's Remembrall, I wouldn't be on the team—"

"Just walk the other way," I reminded Hermione in a hushed voice. She ignored me.

"So I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking the rules?" Hermione snapped at Harry and Ron.

I sighed. That was the opposite of what she was supposed to do.

"Just leave them," I said, attempting to end the conversation. "They obviously don't listen to reason."

"I thought you two weren't talking to us anymore?" Harry scoffed.

"Oh, _please_ don't stop now," Ron added. "It's doing us so much good."

Hermione stormed off, and I followed her lead.

"Stubborn imbeciles," she muttered.

The breakfast on Halloween morning was even more enchanting than the rest of October. They served pies in every flavor, breakfast casseroles, and something Hermione called a pumpkin spice latte ("I thought I'd left those behind in the Muggle world," she had said).

Lessons continued as normal, and were becoming more interesting now that we had mastered the basics. In Charms, Flitwick had us practice the Levitation Charm in groups of two. He paired me with Harry and Hermione with Ron. Not one of us was happy with the arrangement.

"Now remember," Flitwick instructed. "Swish and flick." He demonstrated the movement with his wrist. "And pronouncing the words ' _Wingardium Leviosa_ ' properly is very important too—Never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."

Harry and I couldn't even lift our feathers off the desk.

"Why won't this thing move?" he mumbled, prodding it with the tip of his wand.

I gritted my teeth. "Maybe it would if you weren't such a prick—"

"Yes, _I'm_ the prick."

The only words we said to each other for the remainder of the class were " _Wingardium Leviosa_ ". Ron and Hermione, on the other hand, were having an argument and a tutoring session all in one.

"You're doing it wrong," Hermione snapped. "It's Wing-gar-dium Le-vi- _o_ -sa, not Wing-gar-dium Le-vi-o- _sar_."

"Why don't you do it if you're so clever?" Ron muttered.

"I will, then." Hermione swished and flicked her wrist. " _Wingardium Leviosa!_ "

The feather rose off the desk and hovered in the air. Hermione smiled, very pleased with herself, as the rest of the class turned to look at what she'd done.

"Wonderful!" Flitwick beamed. "Look, everyone, Miss Granger's done it! Ten points to Gryffindor!"

When Flitwick dismissed the class, Harry and Ron were the first ones out the door. They certainly weren't pleased that their enemy accomplished the spell before they did. I stayed behind to wait for Hermione while Flitwick praised her.

"That was impressive," I complimented as we exited the Charms corridor into the courtyard.

"Oh, I could only do it because I practiced at home," she said, blushing.

"You still did it," I said, gently hitting her on the arm. She didn't answer. She seemed focused on the group of first-year boys walking in front of us, including Ron and Harry.

"It's Wing-gar-dium Le-vi- _o_ -sa, not Wing-gar-dium Le-vi-o- _sar_ ," Ron mocked in an fake high-pitched voice, making the surrounding students burst into laughter. "She's a nightmare, honestly. No wonder barely anyone can stand her."

The shy smile on Hermione's face vanished. She hurried away, her eyes glistening with tears.

"Hermione, wait!" I called. Instead of stopping, she ran out of sight, disappearing into the castle.

"I think she heard you," Harry muttered to Ron.

"It doesn't matter whether she heard you or not!" I scolded, shooting them both daggers with my eyes. "You shouldn't say things like that."

"So? She must know she hasn't got any friends," Ron sneered.

"She has _me_."

"Only because she's the one person in this school who doesn't hate you."

Silence.

Everyone stared at Ron in shock—even he looked taken aback by his own ridicule. I couldn't think of a single Spanish swear to fire back at him.

"I'd be friends with a million Hermiones before I'd ever be friends with you," I finally spluttered and stormed off to the Transfiguration classroom.

I expected to find Hermione there. She was always first to every class, especially Transfiguration. Just like me, it was her favorite. Nonetheless, the table we always shared was empty, as was the rest of the classroom, except for McGonagall. She was at her desk, tirelessly grading papers. She looked up to greet me.

"Good afternoon, Silverwood," she said. "Where's Granger?"

"She's sick," I lied.

"Oh, well, tell her I hope she gets well soon."

"I will," I assured her.

"And I want you to stay after class today, Silverwood."

I was a bit startled by her words. "Am I in trouble?"

"No," McGonagall said simply, leaving me to wonder and, of course, worry. She went back to her work as the other students started pouring into the classroom.

Hermione and I were undoubtedly McGonagall's favorites. She was still strict in class, but spoke to us as if we were friends, something Percy had warned she rarely did. That made two people in this school who didn't hate me.

Ever since I read _Hogwarts: A History_ , I'd wanted nothing more than to leave Malfoy Manor and come to Hogwarts. I imagined it would be a place where I wasn't hated. Where I could be just another student that wanted to learn the secrets of magic. Where I could fit in. But the closer my eleventh birthday came, the more I discovered how much the wizarding world wanted to get rid of me. I read warnings about myself from Rita Skeeter in the _Daily Prophet_ , and became so sick of it that I switched to _The Quibbler_. I was avoided in Diagon Alley, and the Gryffindors barely even clapped when I was sorted. But I thought I had made progress over the last month. I thought Harry and Ron were my friends, along with Fred, George, Hermione, and even Percy. But maybe I was wrong.

I never quite understood why everyone hated me. It's not like I wanted my heritage to consist of serial killers, so why did people assume that I would magically end up like my parents? I can be quite nice once you get to know me—well, if I like you, that is. The only things I'm lacking are self-confidence, mental stability, and social skills, and gee, do I wonder why.

We spent the class transfiguring rats into matchboxes. Ron and I kept giving each other sideways glares, but didn't say a word to each other. I was thankful we weren't on speaking terms; I didn't think I could stand getting into another fight with him.

I wanted to set out to find Hermione as soon as McGonagall dismissed the class, but I remembered that she had asked me to stay.

"So, you wanted to see me?" I asked as I approached her desk.

"Yes." She put her quill down to address me. "Silverwood, I've recently heard some very…disturbing things about the Malfoys."

 _Fred and George._ "Like what?" I asked, despite knowing what her answer would be.

"That you've mentioned your godfather hitting you on multiple occasions, without you knowing that it was out of the norm, let alone illegal."

I couldn't tell her the truth. Lucius would use his high status to get himself out of trouble, and his punishment for me would be unimaginable. And besides, what would the Ministry care about Voldemort's daughter being hit around? They'd probably make Lucius the Minister.

I fidgeted with my shirt. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Silverwood, I'm going to need you to be honest with me here." She spoke with the gentlest tone I had ever heard her use. "We can remove you from the situation."

"Is that a sugarcoated version of 'we can put you in an orphanage and make you live without any family at all for the rest of your life because teenagers don't get adopted'?"

McGonagall's usual stern look returned. "Silverwood."

"Sorry," I mumbled. "What have you heard? And from who? Because I can assure you that whatever anyone said is rubbish."

"From _whom_ , Silverwood," McGonagall corrected me. "And it was every Weasley currently attending this school."

"What?" I understood Fred and George, but Ron and Percy? "What did they say?"

McGonagall rummaged around in her desk until she found a sheet of parchment with a few notes scribbled on it. She raised it to her face to read it. "Well, for starters, Percy claimed that at the start-of-term feast, Draco Malfoy asked you how you thought your father might react to your Sorting. You said, and I quote, 'Well, I'd suppose he'd bash me with his cane a hundred times.'"

I looked down at the table. "I was… exaggerating."

"There's more," she continued. "Fred and George told me that the Howler Lucius sent you was particularly awful, and that when they asked if the Malfoys ever hit you, you confirmed it, and you were surprised that it wasn't normal. All I need you to do is confirm it again."

"I misheard them," I lied. "I thought they asked if the Malfoys ever… hit… golf balls! They love golfing. A lot." I sighed at the ludicrous string of words that just exited my mouth.

McGonagall took in a deep breath. "Silverwood, I have heard a lot of lies throughout my life, but that, by far, is the worst."

Knowing she was right, I chose to move on. "What did Ron say?"

"That you told him your godbrother had his friends beat you up on multiple occasions? And that you were underfed?"

"I never said that." I shifted on my feet, wishing I could lie without the whole school being able to tell. Lucius would kill me if I got his precious son expelled. "I swear, they're just making it all up. You know Weasleys, they're, um… mad." I reinforced my own statement with a nod. "Yeah, messed up in the head, every last one of them. They hallucinated me telling them all of those things, honestly."

"Silverwood, you know I can't report this to the Ministry without your verification."

"That's unfortunate."

"Fine," McGonagall grumbled. "Come and see me when you want to be honest." She went back to grading essays.

"I am being—"

"Don't even try, Silverwood." McGonagall didn't look up from her desk.

I began to sulk out of her room, but stopped when I noticed a jar of spare quills sitting on the counter next to the door. After checking behind me to make sure McGonagall wasn't looking, I snatched one for myself and hid it in the pocket of my robes.

Stealing always gave me a rush, a sense of accomplishment that cured me at my worst moments. I had stolen useless knick-knacks from the Malfoys hundreds of times—I was surprised they had anything left. It always relieved my anger after a punishment from Lucius. And after Ron insulting Hermione and me, and now McGonagall pressuring me to be honest with her about the Malfoys, I needed something to cope.

As soon as I left, I set out to find Hermione. _Maybe she's in the common room._ I started in the direction of Gryffindor tower, but stopped at the sound of Lavender Brown's taunting voice behind me.

"Looking for Granger, Silverwood?" Her irritating voice chimed like a thousand bells at once.

I turned around to face her and Parvati. Lavender's light brown hair fell in perfect, symmetrical curls around her shoulders. I could almost hear them saying "Lavender's hair looks better than yours."

"Fay said she's been crying in the bathroom near Snape's office," Parvati said with fake pity. She twirled her black braid in her fingers, making me want to rip out my own braid so we wouldn't be matching.

"So, if you want to go find her, it's down that hallway and to the left." Lavender pointed to a corridor on the right-hand side. "But I should warn you, knowing Granger, it'll be pathetic. You two make a great pair, don't you?" She and Parvati walked off, their annoying laughs ringing in my ears.

I wanted to punch the smug smiles off of their faces, but I knew I would get in trouble and they wouldn't. They were always on their best behavior during class, and every teacher thought they were angels. I, on the other hand, had a reputation to fix. So I calmed myself down by remembering how I had succeeded in stealing McGonagall's quill, and my fists unclenched. Instead, I pulled two sheets of parchment out of my bag and crumpled them up. I pointed my wand at them, whispered a quick " _Wingardium Leviosa_ ," hoping the spell might finally work, and they went flying towards the back of Lavender and Parvati's heads. The parchment hit them right where their brains should have been.

With appalled expressions, they whipped around to glare at me as I attempted to hide the triumphant smirk on my face. I disappeared before they could say another word.

After a bit of searching, I found the corridor with Snape's office. That might have been the first time I navigated the castle without Hermione's help. But my triumph disappeared when I encountered the last person I wanted to see at the moment. Or ever.

"You should be at the Halloween feast, shouldn't you?" Snape inquired, raising one eyebrow with suspicion.

"And you should be using more shampoo," I retorted, "but we can't all have what we want, can we?" I sped past him before he could think to give me a month's detention.

After passing a statue of a griffin, I found the girls' bathroom. I entered only to hear crying coming from the stall furthest from the door. It reminded me of what Ron had said to her, filling me with rage. He could say whatever he wanted to me, but _not_ Hermione. She was one of the only people to stick by me no matter what, and I was going to do the same for her. Maybe I would ask Fred and George how to hypothetically get the perfect revenge.

Tenatatively, I knocked on the stall door. "Hermione?" I said. No answer. "I know you're in there."

"Go away," a voice sobbed. It was Hermione.

"Hermione, you can't stay in there forever," I said.

"Yes, I can."

"Not if you want to go the Halloween feast."

Hermione's stomach grumbled. "I'm not hungry."

I sighed and decided to change the subject. "I can teach you what we did in Transfiguration," I offered. "The _Flintifors_ spell. I know you've been looking forward to that." No response. "Look, you're not still upset about what Ron said, are you?"

Hermione answered with nothing but a "hmph".

"Don't let him get to you," I continued. "He's just jealous that you got the spell before he did. That's all."

"What, because I'm a Muggle-born?" she said.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"He thinks he should be better than me because I'm a Muggle-born and he's from a wizard family, doesn't he?"

Her words shocked me. She felt lesser because she was a Muggle-born. I thought back to when Draco had called her a Mudblood in Diagon Alley—did she know what that meant now? Did she know that wizards had created a slur specifically for people like her?

"No!" I said, trying to comfort her. "Of course not! If I got the spell, he'd be jealous of me, too. He's just being a jealous twit."

At that moment, the bathroom door was shoved open, letting in a horrendous smell of rotten eggs and vomit. I turned around to face a twelve-foot tall, grey troll shuffling into the bathroom. Its giant feet shook the ground, and its long arms dragged a heavy wooden club across the floor.

"You really think so?" I heard Hermione say from inside her stall. I didn't dare answer as I slowly backed away from the troll, shaking.

" _Mierda_ ," I whispered.

"Sadie? Sadie, are you still there?"

The stall door creaked open and Hermione emerged, her eyes puffy and red. She caught sight of the troll as it turned its tiny head in our direction, its beady black eyes boring into us.

We screamed.

It lugged its large feet across the floor and swung its mighty club towards us. I yanked Hermione out of the way, making the club crash into the stall door instead. The troll struggled to pull its weapon free, giving us an opportunity to catch our breath and run to the exit.

"Get the door!" I cried.

Hermione fought to turn the door handle, but it didn't budge.

"It's locked!" she squealed.

"Who would lock the girls' bathroom?" I shouted. "Use that unlocking doors spell!" I frantically looked behind me. The troll had retrieved its club and was advancing towards us.

"Of course!" Hermione said, raising her wand. " _Aloha_ —"

The troll wasn't too eager to let her finish her spell. We shrieked again as it threw us across the room, away from the door. I groaned in pain as I landed on the cold, marble tile, and felt a large bump forming of the back of my aching head. Both Hermione and I were too dizzy to get up. The monster was stumbling toward us, shattering sinks as it went. We gave each other looks of dread and shrunk against the wall, the blood drained from our faces.

"It's been a good two months, Hermione," I said, my voice quivering. She nodded in agreement.

I was sure this would be the end of us, but the door opened once more.

"Oi, pea brain!" someone shouted.

"Over here!" said another.

The troll turned around as the sources of the voices stepped out into the open. It was Harry and Ron.

"Confuse it!" Harry said.

Ron pulled a metal pipe from a destroyed sink and threw it at the troll. The pipe struck it in the head, causing it to lose its stability.

"Run!" Harry shouted at Hermione and me. We tried to dash past the stunned troll, but it swung its arms out, trying to gain its balance, and sent us flying back against the wall once again. This time, my right foot landed on its side, leaving excruciating pain in my ankle. Meanwhile, Harry made another attempt to attack the monster. A stupid attempt, in my opinion.

He charged towards the monster and jumped onto its back in an attempt to strangle it. The problem was, his wand was still in his hand when he jumped, and it went right up the troll's nose.

The troll flailed its arms, once again stumbling over its own feet in its baffled state. Harry was bound to be knocked off. I wanted to help him, but I could barely even touch my foot to the ground without feeling agony, let alone stand up. Hermione looked like she was about to faint, so she couldn't be much help either. But luckily, Ron had an idea of his own.

" _Wingardium Leviosa_!"

With a swish and flick of his wrist, Ron levitated the club from the troll's hand and dropped it on its owner's head. The troll spun in circles before falling to the ground, dazed, along with Harry. The latter got to his feet and retrieved his wand, wiping it on his pants with a groan of disgust.

Hermione and I let out sighs of relief and stood up, and I put my arm around her neck to avoid putting weight into my injured foot. Hermione was the first to speak.

"Is it dead?"

"No, just knocked out, I think," Harry said.

"We better get back to the common room before anyone finds out we were here," Ron urged. "I'm sure we can get some fifth years to fix you guys up. Come on."

The sudden sound of footsteps grabbed our attention. Professor McGonagall stormed into the bathroom, followed by Snape and Quirrell, all three very unpleased. Once Quirrell saw the troll, he turned white as a sheet and fainted, but McGonagall and Snape's angry expressions didn't falter. Hermione and I exchanged another look of dread, knowing this encounter wouldn't end well.

"What on earth were you four thinking?" McGonagall reprimanded. "You should be in your dormitory!"

McGonagall's frown of disapproval was nothing compared to Snape's piercing glare. His cold, soulless eyes stared at me in anger, maybe even pure hatred. I remembered the comment I'd made about his hair, and looked away, not daring to speak. Thankfully, Hermione did for me.

"Please, Professor," she said. "It was my fault."

"Yeah," I joined in, not wanting her to take all the blame. "We were going to fight the troll—"

"Because we've read so much about it, we thought we could take it on—"

"We would be dead if it wasn't for them," I said, gesturing to Harry and Ron.

"They saved our lives," Hermione agreed.

"Well, in that case," McGonagall said, "I'll have to take five points from each of you for your foolishness." Hermione and I hung our heads low, despite me being secretly thankful we didn't earn detention. "And as for you," McGonagall continued, now speaking to Harry and Ron, "each of you will receive five points for taking down the troll. Now, you four best get back to Gryffindor Tower before I change my mind."

"Yes, Professor," the four of us muttered before taking our leave. The other three slowed down to accommodate my limping.

"She should've given us more than ten points," Ron complained once the teachers were out of earshot.

"Zero, actually, if you consider the points we lost," Harry muttered. "Thanks for taking the blame, by the way," he said to Hermione and me. "We would've all been expelled if you weren't her favorites."

"Yeah, why'd you do that?" Ron asked.

"Because, contrary to popular belief, we're decent people," I said.

There was a short pause before Ron spoke. "Look, I'm sorry about what I said."

"And I'm sorry for laughing," Harry added.

"It's fine," Hermione and I mumbled. She gave me a puzzled look, and I remembered that she hadn't seen Ron lash out at me.

"How did you know to come find us?" I asked. "Or did you just decide you'd save the day?"

"Well, we heard Lavender and Parvati talking about how Hermione was crying in the bathroom or something," Harry explained. Hermione blushed while I rolled my eyes at the mention of Lavender and Parvati. "So we figured that you weren't at the feast because you had gone to find her."

"And then we saw the troll heading towards the girls' bathroom," Ron cut in. "But we didn't know it was the girls' bathroom. The key was in the lock, so we locked it in."

Hermione and I glared at them.

"We're sorry, okay?" Harry said. "Anyways, we thought we'd go find you guys now that the troll had been taken care of, but then we realized the room we locked it in _was_ the girls' bathroom."

"You idiots," Hermione and I muttered.

When we reached the common room, Ron pulled me aside.

"I didn't mean that, you know," he said. "About everyone hating you."

"You don't have to apologize," I assured. "I've heard worse. I mean, you weren't wrong—"

" _I_ don't hate you." I wasn't sure how to respond to that. It might have been the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me. "I mean, I know I _sounded_ like I did, but I didn't mean it, really. It just came out."

"It's okay," I mumbled, not knowing what else to say.

Ron awkwardly broke the already awkward silence. "Can we be friends again?" he stammered.

I smiled. "I'd like that."

He smiled back, and we walked into the common room together to join Harry and Hermione.


	9. That Time Hermione Set Snape on Fire

**VIII: That Time Hermione Set Snape on Fire and It Was Iconic**

As we entered the Quidditch season, the Hogwarts spirit was higher than it had been all year. Tension between the houses built as teams began fighting over the Quidditch field, all of them wanting to get in as much practice as possible. Everyone was working their hardest to earn house points. All of the Gryffindors donned red and gold house scarves, and some gave their extras to us first years. But the greatest change of all wasn't the season or the spirit: it was my social life.

Every day, more and more people realized I wasn't Voldemort Jr. At the start of the term, students would avoid even making eye contact with me. But nowadays, even perfect Percy the Prefect would wave to me in the hall. At first, Hogwarts felt like home because it was away from Malfoy Manor. Now, Hogwarts felt like home because it _was_.

Even though I still have a headache from the encounter with the mountain troll, I was happy it happened. It brought us all closer together. Hermione had loaned Harry _Quidditch Through the Ages_ for the upcoming game, and although the latter wasn't much of a reader, he genuinely found it interesting. She had also volunteered to correct half of Ron's essays—and by half, I mean all. Hermione had finally accepted that Harry and Ron's rule-breaking saved her life. She had become more lax about school conduct, and even conjured a little fire in a jar to warm us up outside, which we weren't sure was allowed. We huddled around the fire in the freezing courtyard, trying to catch falling snowflakes on our tongue. We were now a quartet of sorts, and Snape despised all four of us. We were just discussing how much we hated the man when a familiar voice caught us by surprise.

"Potter!" Snape snapped. All of four of us immediately shut our mouths. I feared he'd heard what we said, but to our relief, he found another way to get us in trouble.

"What's that you've got there?" He suspiciously eyed the book in Harry's hand.

Harry showed Snape the cover, diverting his eyes.

"Library books are not to be taken outside the school," Snape scolded. "Five points from Gryffindor." He snatched the book out of Harry's hand and limped away, his expression never changing from his default frown of disapproval.

"He just made that rule up," Harry muttered once Snape was out of sight. "What's wrong with his leg?"

"Dunno," Ron said, "but I hope it's painful."

Hermione forced us to spend most of that evening perfecting essays on the importance of wideye potions. She said we couldn't afford to anger Snape any more than we already had, and Ron and I agreed. But Harry wasn't so quick to let Snape boss him around; he decided he was getting his book back. He stormed out of Gryffindor tower and set out for the teachers' lounge.

Harry returned around ten minutes later, gasping for air and empty-handed.

"He tried to take it," he said once he had caught his breath.

"What?" asked a confused Ron.

"Snape," Harry said. "He tried to get past that three-headed dog. He was talking about it while Filch was bandaging up his leg."

"But what did he try to take?" I inquired.

"I think it's the package from Gringotts," Harry said.

"What package?" Hermione puzzled. Guilt hit me as I remembered she missed out on tea with Hagrid.

"You mean the package you thought someone tried to steal?" I said. Harry nodded.

"We think that Hagrid took it here and had the dog keep it safe," Ron said.

"And Snape tried to take it," Harry finished.

"Ron, how do _you_ know about this?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, Harry told me when we weren't talking to you."

I always despised Snape, but I never imagined he would try to steal something worthy of a Dark wizard, and especially not something under Hogwarts protection. But now that Harry suggested it, it seemed pretty plausible. Maybe it was just my hatred for Snape speaking, but he was the most suspicious person that I had ever met.

"I could see Snape doing that," I said with a shrug, but Hermione wasn't so quick to accept our theory.

"Look, I don't like Snape either, but he wouldn't steal something Dumbledore wanted safe."

"Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints," Ron grumbled. "I'm with Harry. I wouldn't put anything past Snape."

Harry was no less troubled the next morning. After breakfast, he would be playing in his first ever Quidditch game, and he was more nervous than I had ever seen him. He didn't eat a single thing or even look at any of us. He spent the entire meal staring down at his untouched plate, an anxious look frozen on his face. I didn't know Harry Potter _could_ get nervous.

"You've got to eat something, Harry," Hermione said.

"I'm not hungry," he mumbled without moving his eyes from his plate.

"You'll need your strength," Seamus said. "Seekers are always getting clobbered by the other team."

"That's reassuring," Harry muttered. That was the last thing he said all breakfast.

When Hermione, Ron, and I arrived back in the common room, the upcoming Quidditch game was the only thing on anyone's mind. Everyone was dancing, and a radio on top of the mantle was blasting the Weird Sisters' "Do the Hippogriff." Some enthusiastic Gryffindors were having Lavender paint their faces with red and gold streaks of eye shadow while Dean, Seamus, Neville, and two older boys I didn't recognize were making a banner out of a torn up sheet.

"What's this music?" Hermione grimaced, covering her ears as the radio gave off feedback from Myron Wagtail's scream-singing.

"It's _art_ , Hermione," I said.

"No, it's not!" Ron argued. "Bill and Charlie always forced me to listen to the Weird Sisters. They're awful."

"Your brothers or the Weird Sisters?" I asked.

"Both."

"You have zero taste in music," I scoffed, making Ron roll his eyes. "Come on, let's go get our faces painted!" I dragged Ron and Hermione along to where Lavender, who had finished her makeup session, was gossipping with Parvati and Fay.

"Can I have some face paint?" I asked Lavender, putting on the friendliest face I possibly could. Maybe she forgot about the parchment-throwing incident.

"Sorry," Lavender said, "but I don't do makeup for criminals." Parvati and Fay laughed behind her, making the smile slowly fade from my face.

"You know what, Lavender?" Ron interjected. "Sadie might not be the nicest person—or the most agreeable—or the most socially adept—but she is _not_ a criminal!" The three girls stopped their laughing as Ron snatched the Lavender's eye shadow palette from her hand and painted my cheeks red and gold.

"Thanks," I said to Ron. "I think."

"You can pay me back by turning the bloody radio off."

"I'm good," I said with a shrug.

Lavender, Parvati and Fay had realized by now that I'm not a threat, so instead of being scared of me, they can be complete jerks. It stung, but it was better than being feared by everyone who made eye contact with you. Normal people had drama, right?

Meanwhile, Dean was circling around the Gryffindor banner, examining his work from every angle in true artist fashion. I walked over to see it for myself, and I wasn't disappointed. The words "POTTER FOR PRESIDENT" covered the banner. To the left of the words was a Gryffindor crest that looked too perfect to be drawn.

"I don't want to be _that_ person," I said, catching Dean's attention, "but did you draw that?"

"I tried."

"Well, I just wanted to say it looks good," I said. I was getting so much better at this conversation thing. If only Ron could see me now.

"Eh," Dean protested, "it took me forever. And now I have to draw another on the right—"

"Mate, I don't think we have time for that," Seamus said.

Dean glared at him. "But then it won't be symmetrical!"

"I can draw fast," I said.

"Maybe," Neville chimed in, "But can you draw as well as the Deanmeister—"

"Stop calling me that," Dean muttered.

"Whatever. But seriously, can you draw?"

I shrugged. "I'd like to think so."

"Have at it, then," Dean said, handing me a thin, cylindrical black stick twice the width of my palm.

"What's this?" I asked.

"It's a pen," Dean answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You do know what a pen is… right?"

"Should I?"

"It's okay," Neville assured me. "I didn't know what it was at first either."

"You wizards need to get with the times," Dean chided. "Basically, it's like a quill and inkwell, except it's practical."

"What's so impractical about a quill and ink?" I asked, so offended.

"Well, that's what people used in the fourteenth century, and they all died of the Plague. Coincidence? I think not."

"The—the Plague?" Neville and I stuttered in unison.

"Yep," Dean said with a solemn sigh. "It wiped out the entire population. Users of the quill and inkwell are at the highest risk."

Neville and I gasped and exchanged worried looks.

"Would you two relax?" Seamus interjected. "The bubonic plague isn't around anymore. And for the record, Dean, it didn't kill the _entire_ population. Only twenty-five million people or so."

Dean rolled its eyes. "It's called hyperbole, Seamus."

"What's hyperbole?" I asked.

"Nevermind," Dean mumbled. "Anyway, a pen is like a quill, except you don't have to refill it. If you want to use it, just click on this part." He took the pen from my hand and pushed down on one side, causing a silver, pointy end to shoot out the other side. The silver point brushed his hand, causing a thin black line to appear on his dark skin. "And click again when you're done." He pushed on the clicky part again and the pointy part disappeared. "Now, if you could make the crest the opposite way as the one I drew, that would be great. For the aesthetic, you know." He handed me the pen again, and naturally, I started clicking it, making the silver point appear and disappear over and over. I was fascinated.

Dean slapped my hand. "Stop that, you're gonna break it."

I stopped clicking and began to draw an outline of the Gryffindor crest: a simple shield shape containing a roaring lion on a red and gold checkered background. It only took me a few minutes to draw it; after all, I had plenty of practice with art. Drawing was the only way I knew how express myself. Until I met Manuel, I had no one to talk to, and I didn't know how to write. So, instead of talking to people with words, I talked to my sketchbook with pictures. Maybe that's why I'm so socially awkward.

"She _is_ good," Neville said, admiring my drawing.

"How'd you do that so fast?" Dean complained. "It takes me that long to draw just one line! You can't afford to mess up with pen… I wish a brought a pencil with me…"

"A pencil?" Neville and I asked.

Dean shook his head. "Nevermind."

"Now for the finishing touches," one of the two fifth years said as he raised his wand at the banner. " _Reparo._ " The holes in the sheet began to patch themselves together. It looked as good as new.

" _Colovaria_ ," the other boy said, causing the sheet's faded maroon color to brighten itself to a vibrant red. The words "POTTER FOR PRESIDENT" changed from a black outline to a shining gold, and the crests looked just like the one hanging in the Great Hall. Harry would love it.

At eleven o'clock, the field was filled with students and teachers from every house. The Slytherin and Gryffindor Quidditch teams were huddled together in the Quidditch pitch, planning for the game that would start any minute. One of the upperclassman had charmed our banner to levitate in the air, and Harry gave the biggest smile when he caught sight of it. Lee Jordan, one of Fred and George's friends, was pacing around the commentator's booth, doing some vocal warm-ups. McGonagall sat beside him with her head in her hands.

Once Madam Hooch blew her whistle, both teams mounted their brooms and took their positions.

"Hello everyone," Lee shouted into his microphone, "and welcome to the House Tournament!" A series of cheers erupted from the crowd. "To start off the Quidditch season, today Gryffindor will be kicking Slytherin's a—"

McGonagall covered the microphone, causing unbearable feedback to fill the stadium.

"Sorry, Professor," Lee continued once the mic was his again. "On that note, take it away, Madam Hooch!"

Another blow of the whistle, and the game began.

"And Gryffindor is in possession of the Quaffle thanks to Chaser Johnson—damn, she's hot—"

"JORDAN!" McGonagall shouted.

"Sorry, Professor—anyway, Johnson passes to Gryffindor Chaser Spinnet—Spinnet passes to Gryffindor Chaser Bell, who—oh no, Slytherin Captain and Chaser Marcus Flint steals the Quaffle—he passes to Slytherin Chaser Pucey—is that the best you can do Flint?—Looks like he's going to score—no, blocked by the one and only amazing Gryffindor Captain and Keeper Oliver Wood!—Gryffindor has the Quaffle now—Wood passes to Bell—Bell passes to—nope, Slytherin Beater What's-His-Face hits her with a Bludger—not cool, man—Pucey has the Quaffle now—he flies towards the Gryffindor goalpost—Will he score? Probably not—Gryffindor Beater Weasley—I'm not quite sure which one—hits a Bludger straight at Pucey's head!—OUCH, that must've hurt—but do I care? Not really—An excellent steal from Johnson—she shoots—and she scores past that idiot Slytherin Keeper Bletchley! Ten points to Gryffindor!"

The Gryffindors cheered, while the Slytherins shouted a series of boos. Ron, Hermione, and I, yelled words of encouragement at Harry.

"C'mon, scoot over," a gruff voice said. Ron, Hermione, and I turned around to see Hagrid seating himself next to us.

"Hagrid!" we shouted. We squeezed in together to make room for him.

"Bin watchin' from me hut," Hagrid explained, "but I thought I'd join the crowd." He lifted a pair of binoculars to his face and scanned the field. "Any sign o' the Snitch?"

"No," Ron said. "Harry hasn't had much to do yet."

"Gryffindor Seeker Potter—youngest seeker in a century—seems to have caught sight of the Snitch!" Jordan continued. "He dives through the air, like the majestic Gryffindor he is—"

Harry gave a small smile at Lee's comment.

"Oh, no, here comes Slytherin Seeker Higgs—never liked that guy—he seems to see the Snitch too—the Seekers are racing towards it—Potter is in front—he reaches towards the Snitch—he's going to catch—no, Flint blocks Potter—nearly knocked him off his broom, that son of a—"

"JORDAN!" McGonagall scolded.

"Sorry, Professor."

Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and shouted "FOUL! Free shot for Gryffindor!"

The Seekers began looking every which way in confusion. They had lost the Snitch.

"So after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating—"

"JORDAN!"

"I mean, after that revolting foul—"

"Jordan, I am warning you—"

"Sorry, Professor—What I meant to say was, after Flint nearly kills Potter—definitely not cheating at all—Slytherin receives a penalty—Spinnet takes the shot—and another ten points for Gryffindor!"

More cheers erupted from the crowd of Gryffindors.

"Slytherin in possession now—Flint goes for the goalpost—gets hit in the face by a Bludger! Hope it broke his nose—just joking, Professor—c'mon, laugh a little—oh, Slytherins score—ten points to Slytherin, unfortunately."

This time, the celebratory cheers came from the Slytherins and the Gryffindors were the ones booing. Meanwhile, Harry's face lit up. I followed his line of vision to a whirring, golden sphere in the air: the Snitch. He tried to dive towards it, but his broom began to jerk back and forth. A few murmurs trickled through the stands, and soon enough, everyone was pointing at Harry.

"Dunno what Harry thinks he's doin'," Hagrid said. "Musta lost control o' his broom… but he couldn' have…"

Harry's broom rolled over, almost throwing him off the side. The crowd gasped. He was hanging onto his broom with one hand, holding on for dear life.

"What happened?" Ron worried.

"Maybe something happened when he knocked into Flint," Seamus suggested.

"Can't have," Hagrid said. "Only powerful dark magic can do sumthin' like that to a Nimbus Two Thousand."

This must have given Hermione an idea. She seized Hagrid's binoculars and directed them towards the teachers' stands, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"I knew it!" she exclaimed. "Look at Snape!"

I snatched the binoculars from her and zoomed in on Snape. He was murmuring something under his breath, never blinking or taking a breath.

"What is he doing?" I asked.

"He's jinxing the broom!" Hermione said with brilliance.

"What do we do?" said Ron.

"Leave it to me."

Without another word, Hermione disappeared into the stands. Meanwhile, Harry's broom was still too out of control for him to remount it. Luckily, the Snitch was still nowhere to be found, so he could still win the game if whatever Hermione had in mind would work. Knowing Hermione, there was a good chance it would.

Everyone, including the Gryffindor team, was too focused on Harry to notice that Flint had scored five times. Then, the crowd let out another gasp, but this time it wasn't for Harry. Bright blue flames had caught onto Snape's robes, and they were rapidly spreading around the teachers' stands. Professor Sprout tried to fan the fire out with her robes, but to no avail. Flitwick, the smart one, stopped the fire by shooting water out of the end of his wand. After the fire was gone, Flitwick poured some more water onto Snape's head for good measure, which the latter didn't seem too happy about.

Hermione appeared beside me again, smiling. "That worked," she said, very pleased with herself. I looked into the Quidditch pitch to see that Harry's broom was now still and calm, hovering in the air as it should be. He attempted to climb back onto his broom, but it proved difficult.

Ron simply stared at Hermione in disbelief. "Did you just… set fire to a _teacher_?"

"I'm brilliant, aren't I?" Hermione beamed.

The crowd let out another gasp. I looked back at Harry to see his hand slip from the broom. He was falling from almost fifty feet up: if someone didn't do something now, he could die.

So naturally, I did the first thing that came to mind. I pulled my wand from my pocket and whispered: " _Wingardium Leviosa_."

I levitated the broom so it was positioned below Harry. He fell onto it, let out a sigh of relief, and the game continued as normal. A sly smile appeared on my face.

"Never seen a broom do tha' in me life," Hagrid marveled. "Catch a player like that. Not complainin', o' course."

Hermione suddenly caught sight of the wand in my hand. "Sadie!" she exclaimed. "You didn't—did you?"

"Levitation charm," I said, twirling my wand in my hand.

"Yeh coulda forfeited the game!" Hagrid scolded.

"I could've?"

"Hagrid's right," Ron said. "Anyone who casts a spell on a player forfeits their team. It's illegal in the Quidditch world."

"It's not illegal if you don't get caught," I muttered, hurriedly stuffing my wand back in my pocket.

Harry was finally able to dive for the Snitch, but suddenly, he clapped a hand to his mouth as if he would throw up. He landed on the ground on all fours, and spit a small golden object into the palm of his hands.

"I got the Snitch!" he shouted, holding it above his head for everyone to see. Madam Hooch blew her whistle to signify the end of the game, but it was inaudible over the cheers from the Gryffindors. The team gathered around Harry, each giving him congratulatory high fives and pats on the back.

"And, as all of us expected, Gryffindor wins—one hundred and seventy points to sixty!" Lee shouted into his microphone.

We spent the afternoon in Hagrid's hut explaining everything to Harry over tea. But Hagrid, who hadn't heard our conversation about Snape in the stands, wasn't so quick to believe us.

"Rubbish," he said. "I know yeh don' like Snape, but he wouldn' do summat like that."

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and exchanged knowing glances, daring each other to tell Hagrid about Snape's past transgressions. Harry was the one to speak.

"We found out something about him," he explained. "He tried to get past the three-headed dog, but it bit him. He was probably after whatever it's guarding."

Hagrid spilled tea all over himself. "How do yeh know about Fluffy?"

"Fluffy?" the four of us questioned.

"Yeah, he's mine. Bought 'im from a Greek wizard las' year."

"You named a demon dog Fluffy?" I said.

"Codswallop!" Hagrid nearly yelled, making me jump back in my seat. "Fluffy isn't a demon! He's adorable!" He took a deep breath to regain his composure. "I lent 'im to Dumbledore to guard—" He stopped himself short.

"To guard what?" Harry coaxed.

"Nothin' yeh need to worry 'bout," Hagrid assured. "It's top secret."

"But Snape's trying to steal it!"

"Rubbish," Hagrid repeated. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher."

"Then why'd he try to kill Harry?" Hermione said. Her opinion on Snape had certainly changed.

"At leas' he stopped," Hagrid said uncertainly.

"The only reason he stopped was because Hermione set him on fire!" Ron blurted.

Hagrid dropped his teacup. " _What_?"

"Thanks, Hermione!" Harry said.

"You should be thanking Sadie," said Hermione humbly. "She was the one who levitated your broom so it would catch you."

Hagrid sighed. "No one should be thankin' anyone! I dunno why Harry's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn' try ter kill a student."

"I know a jinx when I see one!" Hermione retorted. "You have to make eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking!"

"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" Hagrid said. "Listen ter me, all four o' yeh—yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. You need ter forget abou' Snape, an' forget abou' Fluffy, alright? That's between me, Professor Dumbledore, an' Nicolas Flamel—"

"So there's a Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?" Harry said.

Hagrid froze.

"I shouldn'ta said that," he muttered. "I should _not_ have said that."


	10. I'm Generally Confused

**IX. I'm Generally Confused About Everything**

The first winter snow had arrived. Blankets of snow covered the courtyard and decorated the trees. Squirrels and hares roamed the grounds, and eagles and falcons soared the sky. The candles now smelled like toasted marshmallow instead of pumpkin, and frost decorated the windows. Even the ceiling of the Great Hall was enchanted to masquerade as falling snowflakes. Fred and George had bewitched snowballs to repeatedly hit Quirrell in the back of the head, adding to the cheerful atmosphere. But Draco wasn't in such a pleasant mood.

"I feel so sorry," he said one Potions class, "for all those who have to stay at Hogwarts over the break because they're not wanted at home." He stared at Harry and me, making fake crying faces while Crabbe and Goyle laughed. We painfully ignored them.

A few days ago, I learned we were having a break to go home and see our dear, loving families. Thankfully, we were allowed to stay at Hogwarts if we wanted—or if we had to. When McGonagall brought the Gryffindors a sign-up sheet for who would be spending the break at Hogwarts, I was the first to add my name to the list. Harry was the second. Ron's family was in Romania visiting his brother Charlie, so that meant he and his brothers were staying, too. I wished Hermione would be staying, but I was still excited to spend more time away from the Malfoys, including Draco.

The students weren't the only ones excited for the break. The Hogwarts staff had taken the liberty of decorating the corridors with holly and mistletoe. Wreaths and ribbons lined the walls, all of them red and green. I wasn't sure what the color scheme was about, but I didn't complain. It was visually appealing. The important thing was that the teachers deserved a break: some of them actually worked hard.

After Potions, Harry, Ron, Hermione and I encountered Hagrid lugging a large fir tree around for more decoration. Whoever came up with this aesthetic deserves a raise.

"Need some help there, Hagrid?" Ron offered.

"Trying to make some extra money, Weasel? We all know you're desperate." I didn't even have to look to know it was Draco mocking Ron, backed by Crabbe and Goyle, as usual. "Perhaps you could get a job as gamekeeper—I'm sure Hagrid's hut is a palace compared to what you're used to."

"Could you even come up with that insult on your own, or did you need a house-elf to do it for you?" I snapped in Ron's defense. "You must hate Hogwarts, having no one else to chop up your food."

He grinned. "And you must love it, without Father here to hit you around."

Before I could even process what had been said, Ron had Draco by the collar. "I'll show you hitting around, you son of a—"

"WEASLEY!" Snape came rushing towards us. Ron let go of Draco and put his hands in his pockets, refusing to make eye contact with Snape.

"That'll be five points from Gryffindor," Snape said.

"Malfoy's the one yeh should be takin' points from," Hagrid interjected. "He was insultin'—"

"Fighting is against the rules, Hagrid," Snape chided. "Now, you four better move along before you lose more points." With a dramatic flip of his robes, Snape stormed off. Draco and his henchmen pushed past us, bursting with laughter.

"I'll get him," Ron seethed. "One of these days, I'll get him…"

"I hate them both," Harry said. "Malfoy and Snape."

I have good friends.

"C'mon, cheer up," Hagrid chuckled. "It's nearly Christmas."

"It's nearly what?" I asked.

"Christmas, o' course," Hagrid repeated.

"What's that?"

Everyone stared at me in horror for a solid ten seconds before bursting into laughter.

"That's hilarious, Sadie," Ron said.

"What's hilarious?"

Ron's laughter turned to confusion. "Wait, you weren't serious, were you?"

"Yes...?"

"Yeh heard me, righ'?" Hagrid asked after the long silence. "It's nearly Christmas." He over-articulated the word.

"Yeah, I still don't know what that is," I said with a shrug.

"You know, like the holiday," Harry explained. "The holidays are why we're getting a break: Christmas, Boxing Day, New Year's… you do know what I'm talking about, right?"

I shook my head 'no' with the blankest of expressions on my face.

"It's the one where you decorate a tree, and then Santa comes and gives you presents," Hermione clarified, "but it's actually your parents pretending to be Santa so you can have a happy childhood."

"Who's Santa?" Ron and Hagrid asked.

"Who's Santa?" Hermione repeated incredulously. "Don't tell me that's just a Muggle thing."

"Anyways," Hagrid interjected, "Christmas isn't abou' the presents, Hermione. It's abou' spendin' time with the people yeh care about."

"Hagrid's right," Ron said. "It's not about the gifts. But if you wanted to get me some Chocolate Frogs, I wouldn't mind—"

"Ron!" Hagrid shouted.

"Sorry."

"When is it?" I asked.

"December 25th," Harry answered.

December 25th?

That was my least favorite day of the year.

Every year, on that date, the Malfoys would throw some extravagant party and forbid me from coming. Lucius always put a charm on my door to lock me in, leaving me to listen to the music and chatter from inside my room. Even if I was given the option, I wouldn't have gone. I would've hated anyone the Malfoys liked enough to invite. But I just wished they weren't so ashamed of me they felt the need to lock me away.

"Something wrong, Sadie?" Harry asked.

"I was just thinking: the Malfoys always celebrated something on December 25th, but they made me stay in my room, so that could've been—"

"You mean they were hiding Christmas from you?" Harry exclaimed. "And I thought I had a terrible childhood."

Hagrid quickly changed the subject. "Why don't yeh lemme show yeh the Great Hall?"

Carrying the enormous tree, Hagrid led us to the Great Hall. Flitwick met us at the entrance.

"Ah, Hagrid, you must be the last tree—I'll show you where to put it."

As Hagrid and Flitwick moved out of the way, we were greeted with a peculiar but fascinating sight. The hall was lined with over a dozen fir trees, like Hagrid's, decorated with candles and shiny, spherical objects of different colors. I had zero idea what was going on.

"Is this some sort of satanic tree-sacrificing ritual?" I wondered aloud.

Ron laughed. "They're Christmas trees."

"You decorate the tree with ornaments and put presents under it so everyone can open theirs on Christmas Day," Hermione explained. "There was one in the common room."

"That sounds pretty satanic to me," I said under my breath.

Hagrid finished placing his tree and joined us again. "How many days yeh got left till yer holidays?"

"Just today," said Hermione. "Oh, that reminds me—we only have a half hour till lunch; we should get to the library."

"Jus' before the holidays?" Hagrid asked with a chuckle. "Bit keen, are yeh?"

"We've been researching Nicolas Flamel," Harry said. "We haven't found anything yet, though."

"I mean, you could save us the trouble and just tell us who he is," I coaxed.

Hagrid crossed his arms. "I'm sayin' nothin'."

"We'll just have to find out for ourselves, then," Ron said, and we hurried off to the library.

Ever since Hagrid mentioned Nicolas Flamel, we would spend our time combing the library for his name. The name sounded familiar to me, but we couldn't find even a mention of it. We checked our textbooks, the History Section, the Dragon Section, and the Reference Section. Today, we would search the Legal Section. We weren't expecting much.

Hermione and I had a system. She finds books she thinks might help us, and I search the table of contents and index for any mention of Flamel. Harry and Ron just kind of winged it. Lately, Harry had been wondering whether we might find anything in the Restricted Section, but we needed a note signed by a teacher to read a restricted book. If we told a teacher we knew about Flamel, there was a great chance of Snape finding out, and we couldn't risk that. Besides, the Restricted Section contained books on the darkest of the Dark Arts. What teacher would let a first year research that?

Harry tried to sneak into the Restricted Section, but the librarian Madam Pince didn't let anything get past her. We wanted to tell her that we were only trying to find a book about Nicolas Flamel, but we couldn't for fear that it might get around to Snape. So, we had to let her kick Harry out.

By the end of the half hour, we knew no more about Nicolas Flamel than we did before. Ron and I went to join Harry at lunch while Hermione headed for the common rooms to grab her suitcase. After lunch, she and many of the other students would be leaving for the holidays, and I'd be the only Gryffindor girl staying at Hogwarts. But, to be honest, I was starting to miss having a room all to myself.

"Find anything?" Harry asked when Ron and I met him in the Great Hall. Our disappointed faces told him everything.

Hermione joined us, rolling her suitcase with her.

"I see you're packed," Ron said.

"I see you're not," Hermione retorted.

"Mum and Dad are visiting Charlie in Romania, so I'm staying here."

"Good!" Hermione beamed. "Then you can keep looking while I'm gone."

"You could ask your parents if they know who Flamel is," Harry suggested.

"I doubt they'd know anything, seeing as they're dentists, but I'll try."

The only thing that was on my mind the rest of the day was Christmas. More specifically, Christmas presents. I had to get Harry, Ron, and Hermione something. They were my first friends. And I couldn't forget Fred and George. They took me to Honeydukes to cheer me up, and didn't even consider the fact that I was Voldemort's daughter. Maybe I could get presents from Honeydukes, with the help of Fred and George, of course. I already knew what I would be getting Ron.

That afternoon, I asked Fred and George if we could go to Honeydukes again, assuring them that I'd bring my own money this time.

"We were going to go tonight anyway, so you can come with us," Fred said.

"Meet us in the common room at midnight," said George.

When we arrived at Honeydukes later that night, I immediately began deciding what to get everyone. Fred struck me as a Pumpkin Pasties guy, and George seemed to like Fizzing Whizzbees. I thought Hermione would like Bertie Bott's Every-Flavored Beans, and she could share those with her family. Chocolate Wands seemed like a good fit for Harry. And Ron had hinted that he wanted Chocolate Frogs, so I took a box from the shelf. Above the boxes were a display of the most popular Chocolate Frog cards. One in particular caught my eye: Albus Dumbledore.

Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Professor Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark Wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel.

Nicolas Flamel! I knew that name sounded familiar!

We hadn't looked at any alchemy books in the library yet. I promised myself I would do that first thing tomorrow; surely I could find something about Nicolas Flamel.

The next afternoon, I ran straight to the boy's dormitory to announce my findings. My knocking was answered by Ron, who was still in his pajamas.

"We're trying to sleep, Sadie."

I rolled my eyes. "Okay, I know it's only 2:00 P.M., and I'm not a morning person either, but this is important."

Harry came up to the door with disheveled hair. "This better be good."

"It is," I assured them. "I found something on Nicolas Flamel!"

"It's the holidays," Ron grumbled. "Can't we take a break from this?"

"But we promised Hermione we'd look while she's gone!" I said.

"Fine," Ron groaned. "What is it?"

"He was Dumbledore's partner in alchemy! It was on his Chocolate Frog card!" No reaction. "Come on, isn't that exciting?"

"Not as exciting as the dream I was having."

I sighed. "Why don't you two get dressed and we can go look in the library?"

"You can do that," Harry said. "We're going back to bed." The door slammed in my face.

"If you won't look, then I will!" I shouted through the wall.

"Fine by us!" came a shout from Ron.

I stormed off and headed for the library, only to encounter Dumbledore in the corridor.

"What are you doing out this early?" he inquired.

"What are you doing out this early?" I answered reflexively. He raised an eyebrow at me, as if to say I was testing his patience. "Sorry, Professor. Actually, I was wondering if you could tell me about Nicolas Flamel?"

"Might I ask why?'

"I, um, saw it on your Chocolate Frog card and I was… intrigued," I lied.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Nicolas remains as much a mystery to me as he does you, I'm afraid," he said. "Apart from our dabbles in alchemy, I know little about him. Even if I did know the details of his personal life, they aren't mine to share."

Now I really was intrigued. "'Dabbles in alchemy'?"

"Well, I'm sure you know I discovered the twelve uses of dragon's blood since you've been studying my Chocolate Frog card so carefully," he explained with a hint of suspicion. "Nicolas helped me in that endeavour. Afterwards, he left to pursue… other things."

"Such as…?"

"I'm afraid I don't know," Dumbledore said.

"That's okay," I said. "Thanks anyways." With that, I continued my journey to the library.

No offense to Dumbledore, but I was nine hundred percent "I don't know" was code for "I can't say." There was something he knew that he didn't want me finding out.

Despite my lack of help from Dumbledore, my hopes were high for what I might discover in the library. I went to the Reference Section, which was where most academic books were located. Each book was organized into a subject, and each subject was placed in alphabetical order. Alchemy was on the first shelf. There were no books with "Nicholas Flamel" in the title, so I found the most general books I could: _Advanced Alchemy; Alchemy for Beginners; A History of Alchemy; and The World's Most Influential Alchemists_ and began my search. My heart sank when I discovered that not one of the blurbs, tables of contents, or indexes showed any mention of Flamel. I flipped through them, skimming some pages, but to no avail. Not even _The World's Most Influential Alchemists_. He seemed to be erased from history.

I was returning the books to their shelf when I was met with a horrendous sight: Snape.

"Now what might you be doing in the library on break, Silverwood?" He grimaced as he said my name.

"Well, you see, I was bored, and, um, when you're bored, you look for things to do, so I, um, came to the library to find a good book to read." Was that really the best I could come up with? Merlin, I was going to get expelled.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "So you looked in the Reference Section?"

"Um… yes." I nodded with overdone enthusiasm. "I mean, um, the Reference Section is the epitome of literature! Doesn't, um…" I glanced at the book in my hand, " _Alchemy for Beginners_ look like a thrilling read?" Snape's unamused face showed he did not have the same excitement about the book as I did. "I mean, look at this cover!" I showcased the book, which depicted a vial surrounded by illustrations of fire, water, earth, and air. "Such a wonderful painting… what a tasteful ombré of blue they used for the water—"

"How about this, Silverwood," Snape interjected, once again saying my name with disgust. "You get out of the library, and I'll take ten points from Gryffindor and pretend like this never happened."

"Ten?!"

"Five because you're up to something," Snape accused, "and five because I don't like you."

"That's…" I stopped myself before I said something I regret. "That's fair." I put Alchemy for Beginners back on the shelf and hurried out of the library.

I returned to the common room to find Harry and Ron devouring sweets.

"Find anything?" Harry asked me.

"Nope. But Snape knows I was up to something."

"What?!" Harry and Ron shouted in unison.

"He saw me in the library and asked what I was doing," I explained. "I came up with a story, but I don't think he bought it."

"What was your story?" Harry inquired.

"That I was reading _Alchemy for Beginners_ for fun."

Ron frowned. "No one would have bought that."

"Yeah, thanks a lot," Harry grimaced. "You just ruined Christmas."

"Maybe if you had helped you could've come up with something for me." I huffed and went to the girls' dorm to write to Hermione about my discovery (and lack of discovery). One cringeworthy letter later, I set off for the owlery with the letter and candy from Honeydukes. Fred said they were wrapping presents there. A kind house-elf wrapped the candy in strange red and green paper, a color scheme I still didn't understand, while I rolled up the parchment and tied it with a ribbon. I made a small note on Hermione's letter to put the tan jellybeans in a jar and give them to someone she hates.

On Christmas Eve, Harry, Ron, and I stayed up late playing wizard chess and drinking hot chocolate. Outside, snow decorated the castle grounds, covering the lake in a shiny layer of ice. But the three of us stayed warm by the crackling fire, sharing this perfect night with each other. I wished it would last forever, but the clock ticked nevertheless.

Harry and Ron didn't want me to spend Christmas Eve alone, so they let me sleep in their room that night. The boys fell fast asleep, but I dreaded Christmas Day too much to sleep soundly. The next morning, I would wake up to find myself presentless. Like Hagrid said, it's not about the presents. But then again, I knew Draco would receive no less than sixteen packages filled with whatever Richie McRichsters back home could find.

The next morning, I woke up to someone shaking me incessantly. I rolled over to see it was Harry. "Wake up, we have presents to open!"

"And fix your hair," Ron added. "You look a mess."

I rubbed my eyes and sat up, painfully running my fingers through my hair. "I've been trying to fix it for the past eleven years."

The sight that greeted me filled me with envy. Harry had six presents stacked by his bed, and Ron had at least three times that many. My heart sank as I looked down at my own bedpost (well, Dean's bedpost) to find three. It was more than I expected, but I still felt crushed that only three people wanted to give me something.

The first was tied with a golden ribbon, with a tag taped to it that read: "To Sadie, From Hermione." The paper was red and green, as was everything else in this godforsaken holiday. I was still getting satanic vibes.

I ripped open the wrapping paper to find a box of chocolates named "Cadbury Milk Tray." I bit into a spherical piece of chocolate to taste a delicious, gooey toffee filling.

"Oh, thanks, Sadie!" I heard Ron say. I turned to see him holding a box of Chocolate Frogs.

"I didn't think you'd mind," I joked.

"Yeah, thanks," Harry said, gesturing towards his Chocolate Wands. "Where'd you get these?"

"Does Hogwarts have a gift shop I don't know about?" Ron inquired.

"Of sorts, yes," I said. I didn't want to share Fred and George's secret.

Harry pulled two small, silver, circle-shaped items out of a package. "That's friendly," he commented.

"What are those?" I asked.

"They're fifty-pence coins," he explained. "My aunt and uncle sent them. They never really get me much, but at least they told me what Christmas was."

"Fascinating!" Ron exclaimed, taking one out of Harry's hand.

"Those must be worth so much!" I said, taking the other. I didn't know what a "pence" was, but there were fifty of them, and that must be a lot.

Harry grimaced, but quickly turned it into a smile. "Sure they are. You can keep them, if you like."

"Thanks!" Ron and I each pocketed the coins.

Next, I picked up a rectangular package whose tag said it was from Fred and George, and opened it to find a box of treacle fudge. They knew me too well.

I picked up the last present, a lumpy package tied with a brown string. To my surprise, Harry had one of his own. I could easily tell it was clothes, but I couldn't tell who it was from. I had five friends. That didn't leave many options.

"Oh, I know what those are," Ron grumbled, eyeing our packages. "I told my mum you guys weren't expecting any presents, and well… I think she's made you a Weasley sweater."

Harry and I stared back, baffled. "A what?"

"Every Christmas, mum knits everyone in her family a sweater. It's a Weasley tradition."

She knits everyone in her family a sweater? And she included me?

"But she hasn't even met me," I said. "And I thought she didn't like me anyway."

Ron sighed. "Mum's kind of a Christmas fanatic. Reckon she'd even send Snape some fudge if she found out he had no presents."

I beamed as I ripped open the package to find a container of fudge and a purple sweater with a black S sewed onto it. Delighted, I immediately put it on over my t-shirt. It brought more warmth than the fireplace crackling in the common room, or the hot chocolate we drank the night before. I loved it.

"It brings out your eyes," said Harry, who was wearing his own emerald green sweater.

"Yeah, you too," I teased back.

"I always get maroon," Ron said, holding up his Weasley sweater in disgust. "I hate maroon."

Harry still had one more present to open. "Wonder who this is from," he puzzled, pulling silky, grey robes from the package. The fabric seemed to be glittering, like light reflecting off of water. I knew exactly what it was. It was a cloak, but a very special kind of cloak.

"Is that what I think it is?" I blurted.

"Depends on what you think it is," Harry said, oblivious.

"Put it on and let's see."

Harry tied the cloak around his neck. Ron and I gasped as his body disappeared into thin air.

"I knew it!" I exclaimed. "It's an Invisibility Cloak!"

"How can you tell?" Harry asked.

"Well, the fact that your head is floating in midair kinda gave it away."

Harry looked downward to see that his body had, in fact, disappeared. He gasped and threw the cloak off of himself. Relieved to see he was whole again, he sighed and fell backwards onto his bed.

"Who gave you that?" Ron asked with excitement. "They're supposed to be really rare. I mean, some people don't even think they exist."

"I'm not sure," Harry said, picking up the cloak and examining it, causing a piece of parchment to fall out without him noticing.

"Look, Harry, there's a note!" Ron said. Harry seized the paper and turned away from us, then folded it back up and put it in his pocket. I doubt he wanted us to see it.

Suddenly, the dormitory door burst open and Fred and George came barging through, yelling "MERRY CHRISTMAS!" They were both wearing blue sweaters, one with a yellow F and the other a G.

"Why aren't you wearing your sweater, Ron?" George reprimanded. "Even Harry and Sadie have theirs on!"

"It's maroon again," Ron grimaced, pulling his sweater over his head. "She didn't even put a letter on it this year."

"Well, she makes more of an effort if you're not family," George said, glancing between Harry's sweater and mine. "I suppose she doesn't think you forget your name. But we're not stupid, we know we're called Gred and Forge."

"That we are," Fred confirmed. "Oh, and thanks for the Pumpkin Pasties, Sadie."

"And the Whizzbees," George added.

"I can't believe we bought presents right in front of each other," I said.

"What are you talking about?" Ron asked.

Fred shunned Ron with his hand. "Hush, Ronald, the grownups are talking."

At that moment, another Weasley burst into the room. "What's all this noise?" It was, of course, Percy, who was carrying a sweater on his arm.

"We're celebrating," Fred said as if he were speaking to a three-year-old. "I know it's a new concept to you."

Percy gritted his teeth in agitation. "I know what celebrating is."

"Then cheer up and put your sweater on!" George said.

"Look, it has a P for Prefect and everything!" Fred joked. He and George forced the sweater over Percy's head, leaving the latter with crooked glasses and a murderous glint in his eye.

"You do know girls aren't allowed in the boys' dormitory, don't you?" Percy adjusted his glasses. "I'll have to give you three detention—"

"Actually, they are," I corrected. "If a boy tries to go into the girls' dormitory, the staircase turns into a slide, right? But it doesn't work the other way around because the founders trusted girls more than they did boys. This really isn't something a first year should be educating a Prefect on."

"Yeah, Percy," Fred said.

"If you're going to threaten her, do it properly," George chided. "Still hope you two weren't having too much fun, though." He winked at Harry and Ron. I threw a pillow at him.

That evening, we had the biggest feast I'd ever seen in my life (and that's saying a lot). There were hundreds of turkeys, country hams, rolls, cobs of corn, yorkshire pudding, and potatoes served in every possible way you can serve potatoes. Afterwards came pies and cobblers in every flavor, puddings, and ice cream. I ate way too much tollhouse pie, but hey, that's what life's about, right? Making bad decisions that seem reasonable at the time and then regretting them later.

By the end of the day, I was too tired and full of food to do much of anything. Ron and I crashed the minute we went to bed.

By the next morning, Harry had already had plenty of adventures with his Invisibility Cloak.

"So, I was going to go to the Restricted Section to look for Flamel," he explained, barely able to hold his excitement in, "but Filch and Snape knew I was there—I mean, they couldn't see me, but a book screamed at me and they heard it—anyways, I was running away from them, and I found this hidden room! And there was a mirror there, so I looked into it, because that's what mirrors are for—and my parents were there in the mirror!"

"That's amazing!" I said.

"You should've woken us up," Ron whined. "I want to see your parents."

"We can go tonight," Harry said, "and you guys might see your families in the mirror!"

"I'm not sure I want to see my family," I pointed out, looking down at my feet.

"Then you don't have to look. Just come with us." Harry looked at me hopefully, but I didn't answer. "Please?"

"Fine," I conceded.

The cloak covered all three of us, and could've fit in Hermione, too. Still, it took some coordination to walk together without stepping on each other's toes. But the real test was finding the mirror again. We tried to retrace Harry's steps from the library, but it was hard since he wasn't thinking about where he was going the night before. The corridors only seemed to get darker and colder, and the minutes only seemed to get longer. But right when we were going to give up our search, we found the door next to a suit of armor that, thankfully, Harry remembered vividly.

Harry pushed the door open to reveal a large, open space with desks and chairs strewn against the wall. The center of the room was empty, except for a tall, glimmering mirror towering over us. Nothing about this seemed right.

"Here, let me stand in front of it," Harry said, throwing the Invisibility Cloak off of us. He walked up to the mirror and stared at his reflection, a longing smile forming on his face. "Don't you see them? My parents?"

Ron and I exchanged confused glances before both shaking our heads.

"What?" Harry exclaimed in disbelief. "They're there, I promise—"

"We believe you, Harry," I said. "We just don't see it."

Harry . "Ron, you try."

Ron stepped in front of the mirror, and soon enough, a smile was on his face, too.

"Do you see your family?" Harry asked.

"No, it's just me," Ron answered. "But I'm older, and I'm Head Boy! And Quidditch Captain!"

"You are?"

"Yeah, I'm wearing the badge like Bill used to, and I'm holding the Quidditch Cup, too!" Ron tore his eyes from the mirror at last. "Maybe it shows us the future!"

"That's impossible," Harry said. "My parents are dead. Sadie, you should try."

"No, I'm good," I refused. This was all a bit unsettling.

"C'mon, I doubt you'll see your family," Ron assured. "I didn't."

"I'm not sacrificing my soul to the creepy mirror."

"You can't sacrifice something you don't have," Harry sassed, challenging me.

I glared at him for a long time before finally muttering "touché." I stepped up to the mirror.

Nothing happened.

I saw my reflection in the mirror, but nothing beside it. No family, no Quidditch Cup, nothing. Just a standard eleven-year-old girl. There was only one small, but major, difference.

My eyes were brown.


	11. Reason 47492 I Hate Snape

**X. Reason #47492 I Hate Snape**

The mirror was on my mind for days. Why did Harry and Ron get such clear answers from their reflections? Harry's family, Ron's Head Boy badge… What did me having brown eyes mean? Did it mean I sacrificed my soul to the creepy mirror? I knew that was a bad idea.

What Harry told Ron and I that evening in the common room didn't help me solve my dilemma.

"Dumbledore said it shows your deepest desires," he explained. "I want my family back, Ron wants to stop being overshadowed by his brothers' achievements, and Sadie, you… you want brown eyes, I guess?"

"Not really," I said. "I like my eyes."

"Then you can take that up with Dumbledore," he suggested.

I stood up from the couch. "I will, then." With that, I stormed off to Dumbledore's office.

Dumbledore must have been wrong about the mirror, unless there's some hidden message I wasn't receiving. Harry's and Ron's reflections didn't have a secret meaning, so why would mine? Do I just want brown eyes but don't know it? Maybe the mirror's wrong about me.

I arrived at the office only to find the stone gargoyle in my way. "Password?"

I remembered what Dumbledore had used to enter his office before. "Acid Pops."

"You password is incorrect."

I sighed. He must have changed it. "Can't I just knock?"

"Your password is incorrect."

"Incorrect!" I guessed.

"Your password is incorrect," the gargoyle repeated in its gravelly tone.

"Well, screw you too," I muttered, racking my brain. If I were Dumbledore, what would I make people utter every time they want to see me?

"Dumbledore's the best," I guessed again, sure I was correct this time.

"It's 'Albus is the best'," a voice corrected from behind me, "but I appreciate the compliment."

I turned to find Dumbledore facing me. "No offense, but that's kind of narcissistic."

"You said it first," he said with a shrug. "So, you wanted to see me, I assume?"

"Oh, um, I was just wondering about something," I said in the most not-suspicious voice I could, leaning against the wall. "Let's say there was—hypothetically—a mirror that could show you your deepest desires, and a hypothetical person saw themselves with brown eyes, but they actually had blue eyes, or green, or purple—I mean, no one has purple eyes, haven't met anyone who does, but just hypothetically—what would that mean? I mean, if they liked their eyes as they are, what would their deepest desire be? Hypothetically, of course."

Dumbledore stared at me blankly. "I'll tell you two things," he said. "Firstly, you're a terrible liar. Secondly, perhaps this hypothetical person could hypothetically look inside themselves and figure out what they hypothetically want on their own. They might be misunderstanding this hypothetical mirror."

"Firstly, I know," I admitted. "Secondly, what if this hypothetical person has already hypothetically tried that?"

"Then they should hypothetically try harder," he suggested with a knowing glint in this eye.

"Hijo de puta," I muttered as I began to head back to the common room.

"I speak Spanish, you know."

I walked faster.

I knew exactly what my "deepest desires" were. For the wizarding world to realize I'm not a threat. For the Malfoys to at least pretend like they want me. Front-row tickets to a Panic! at the Deathday Party concert. What did any of that have to do with my eye color?

The day before the new term began, Hermione arrived back at Hogwarts with exciting news.

"I did it!" she screamed with excitement. "I figured out who Nicolas Flamel was!" She took a deep breath before launching into a lightning-speed explanation. "Your letter, Sadie, reminded me that I had checked out this book for some light reading." She pulled a thick book out of her backpack with a worn cover: _What They Don't Teach You in Alchemy Class_.

"We have two very different definitions of light," Ron muttered, staring at the enormous book in front of him. Hermione shushed him and flipped to a page she had bookmarked with a red ribbon.

"'Nicolas Flamel is the only known maker of the Sorcerer's Stone'!" she read.

"The what?" Harry, Ron, and I said.

Hermione sighed and opened her mouth to read:

 _"'The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Sorcerer's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal. There have been many reports of the Sorcerer's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr. Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight)._

 _Flamel's discovery has been deemed, in fellow alchemist Albus Dumbledore's words, "dangerous if it is to fall into the wrong hands." Many books and classes on alchemy have omitted any mention of Flamel or the Sorcerer's Stone to avoid its misuse.'"_

"I knew Dumbledore was hiding something!" I exclaimed. "Just our luck that nobody's supposed to know about Flamel. No wonder we couldn't find him anywhere."

"But don't you know what this means?" Hermione said impatiently. "That dog must be guarding the Stone! Dumbledore must have moved it here to keep it from 'falling into the wrong hands,' and now—"

"Snape's after it!" Harry finished, unable to contain his excitement. "Of course! Who wouldn't want to be rich and immortal!"

"But wouldn't you get sick of living after a while?" I pointed out. "I mean, you'd have to watch all your friends die."

Ron shrugged. "That's why it's perfect for Snape, he hasn't got any friends."

Our conversation was interrupted by the sound of someone crashing through the portrait hole. We rushed over to find Neville wriggling on the floor like a beached whale.

Hermione gasped, alarmed. "What happened?"

"Malfoy," Neville said with a quiver in his voice. "Leg-Locker Curse."

"I'll do the counter-curse!" Seamus offered, raising his wand.

"No!" Neville shouted. "The last thing I need is for you to set my bloody kneecaps on fire!"

"Locomotor Liberis," Hermione recited, allowing Neville to regain control of his legs and stand up. "You have to report Malfoy, Neville."

"Tell Professor McGonagall!" I urged.

Neville shook his head. "I don't want more trouble."

"You've got to start standing up to people, Neville," said Ron.

"No need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor. Malfoy's already done that."

Harry pulled the box of Chocolate Wands I'd gotten him for Christmas from the pocket of his robes and gave one to Neville.

"You're worth twelve of Malfoy," Harry comforted. "The hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn't it? And where's Malfoy? Slytherin. He's the coward, not you."

"Thanks, Harry," Neville said, blinking through tears. "I think I'll go to bed now." He bit off a piece of the Chocolate Wand and sulked away to the boys' dormitory.

The next afternoon, I still hadn't figured out the mirror. Dumbledore knew exactly what it was trying to say, but simply refused to tell me. I'm so glad I can count on my teachers.

As per usual, Harry's news didn't ease my frustration at all.

"Snape's refereeing," he announced, grabbing our full attention. "He's never refereed before, and I doubt he volunteered because he just felt like it."

Hermione shook her head. "Don't play."

"Say you're ill," Ron suggested.

"Pretend to break your leg."

"Really break your leg."

"I can help with that!" I offered.

"Please don't," Harry said, taking a step back. "I have to play. There isn't a reserve Seeker, so if I'm not there, Gryffindor can't play at all. Besides, it'll really wipe the smirk off Malfoy's face if we win."

"Just as long as we're not wiping you off the field," Ron muttered.

Meanwhile, Snape's hatred for Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I seemed to be increasing exponentially. He would take points from us whenever possible, criticize our every move, and call on us to answer all the trick questions he could think of. He and his class inevitably became unbearable, and soon enough, I couldn't walk the halls without him haunting me.

"Silverwood?" Snape called one day in the corridor.

"Yes, sir?" I said, using the overly polite tone I saved for when Lucius was angry with me.

"Do something against school rules," he ordered.

"What?"

"I need a reason to give you detention." So he's admitting I've done nothing wrong—recently, at least—yet he still wants to give me detention? This guy.

"Why?"

"Detention for questioning my motives," Snape declared. "My office after dinner." Without any explanation, he strolled off, leaving me alone in my confusion.

"Is it just me, or is Snape getting meaner?" Harry asked in the Great Hall that evening.

"Tell me about it," I muttered. "He gave me detention today."

Fred spat out his water. "Detention?!"

"I thought we raised you better than this," George teased.

I put my hands up in defense. "I didn't do anything! He just came up to me in the hallway and gave me detention because he felt like it."

"You should tell Dumbledore," Hermione suggested.

"Get him fired!" Harry encouraged.

"I've already tried talking to Dumbledore once today," I said, "and I don't think my sanity can handle doing it again."

"Then have fun at your detention," Fred teased before leaving with George.

Ron lowered his voice. "Reckon Snape knows we know about the… Philosopher's Stone?"

"Philosopher's?" I asked.

"It'll be our code word," Ron explained. "The American transfer student won't have a clue what we're talking about!"

"Brilliant," Hermione said with an fake tone of approval. "But how would Snape have found out?"

Harry and Ron shot me a pointed glare.

"What?" I asked.

"If you could've come up with a better lie," Ron complained, "Snape never would've gotten suspicious."

"Well, what would you have said?" I demanded. Harry and Ron fell silent. "Exactly," I finished. "Now, I'm going to go to my detention before I can do any more harm."

I walked through the empty castle corridors with a guilty feeling in my stomach. My plan was to never get detention throughout all seven years of my academic career, simply to spite the people who wanted me expelled, but now I've already failed.

Maybe it was just my anxiety speaking, but I found this whole situation a bit suspicious. Everything about Snape was suspicious. One minute, he's threatening Quirrell at midnight, and the next, he's giving me detention for no reason? I had plenty of questions about him, and I planned to get some answers this evening.

I knocked on the door to Snape's office as politely as I could. If I wanted to do as little work for him as possible, I had to show as little anger as possible.

Snape let me in and slammed the door shut as soon as I stepped through. The room was small, and mainly consisted of his desk. On the desk were stacks of papers, staplers, tape, and other office supplies with labels taped in front of them. The bookshelf was filled to the brim, and not a single book was slanted out of place.

"So, what can I do for my favorite professor?" I offered in my trademark kiss-up-but-not-so-much-of-a-kiss-up-that-anyone-else-can-tell-I'm-being-a-kiss-up voice.

"We both know that's a lie," Snape said coldly. I didn't deny it. "As for what I called you here for, I want you to answer a question."

"Is that all…?"

"Yes."

I stared at him, confused. "What's the question?"

His lips curled into the first smile I had ever seen on his face. "What do you know about the Sorcerer's Stone?"

I froze.

Ron was right. Snape found out that we knew about the Stone, or at least that I knew about it. But if I denied it enough, maybe I could convince him otherwise.

"The—the what?" I asked, trying to sound as convincing as possible.

"You were researching Alchemy, a subject you don't take, during the holidays," he pointed out. "I believe you know very well what I'm referring to.

My heart pounded. "I'm afraid I don't sir."

He raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure of that?" He began to pace back and forth in front of me. "Because, I have more than enough evidence of you disrespecting me to get you expelled, and I know Lucius Malfoy isn't necessarily fond of you." My eyes widened. "And Filch said he nearly almost caught four students out of bed one night sometime ago, and I know a particular group of four he might have seen. We wouldn't want them to be exposed to Professor Dumbledore, now would we?"

I stared at him in disbelief. He was blackmailing me.

I couldn't go back to the Malfoys. Of course I would have to for summer break, but I couldn't deal with them for longer than that. Not after learning that life could get so much better.

"Maybe I've… heard of it," I reluctantly admitted.

"Go on."

I looked down at my feet, ashamed of myself for giving in. "Nicolas Flamel made it… it produces the Elixir of Life and stuff… and it's at Hogwarts now. That's all I know."

"How do you know it's at Hogwarts?" Snape inquired.

"It's a long story."

"We have time."

I didn't want to risk telling him about Fluffy. Sure, he already knew we had snuck out past curfew, but he couldn't know we visited the one room that was strictly off-limits. We would get detention for the next thirty years.

"Well, we—I saw Hagrid bringing a stone-sized package here," I lied, "so I just put two and two together." I decided to take all the blame instead of throwing the others under the bus with me.

"You just figured it out?" Snape laughed skeptically. "You just assumed a random package contained the Stone?"

Not knowing what to say, I simply nodded.

Snape scoffed. He didn't believe me. "Do you know how to get past it?"

I furrowed my brow at him. "Get past what?"

"Hagrid's beast, of course."

Fluffy. "I don't know." I wasn't lying this time.

"You academic career is on the line, Silverwood," he mocked. I glowered at him in frustration.

"I really don't know, sir."

He stared at me for what felt like eons, considering whether or not I was lying, until finally accepting my answer. "I suggest you stay away from the Stone unless you want me to tell the headmaster everything I know about you," he threatened. "And it'll serve you well to show me some respect in my class from now on."

"Yes, sir," I mumbled.

"That'll be all, then." He gestured to the door to show that I was free to go.

I started for the door, but then I remembered my plan to get some answers myself. But the shock of what had just happened forced all of my planned questions, and I could only think of the most simple thing to ask.

"You're after it, aren't you?"

Snape glared at me. "I shouldn't have to tell you anything," he said. "We both know what sides we're on."

Unwilling to say another word to him, I hurried out of the office.

After that detention, Snape and Lucius became one and the same to me. Snape had blackmailed me, threatened me, and manipulated me for his own benefit, all things Lucius had done my whole life. The thought of going back to Potions class made me sick: one screw-up, and I might as well kiss Hogwarts goodbye.

I arrived back at the common room to find Ron, Harry, and Hermione engrossed in a wizard chess tournament.

"How was detention?" Harry asked with a taunting grin.

"Yeah, what did the creep want?" said Ron, who was too focused on his chess game with Harry to even look at me.

I couldn't tell them the truth. How would they react to me telling them I had spilled our secrets because I didn't want to get to expelled? It was selfish of me, but I knew I couldn't go back to the Malfoys for longer than I had to. A part of me believed that I made the right decision, but a nagging voice in the back of my head told me otherwise. I forced myself to suppress my guilt.

"He just wanted someone to sort papers for him," I lied. "Nothing too bad."

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"You're shaking."

I always shook when Lucius was angry with me, knowing what was to come. Snape reminded me of him so much that I was still trembling from detention.

I slapped my hand to make it stay still. "I'm fine," I assured Hermione.

"And you're really pale," she worried.

"I said I'm fine."

"You should go see Madam Pomfrey—"

"I'm fine, Hermione," I insisted.

"Someone's not fine," Harry mumbled.

Potions class inevitably went from unbearable to torturous. I couldn't walk into the room without fearing that it might be the day I push Snape's last button. Every moment was spent in constant panic, and the worse part was, Snape took advantage of it. He'd single me out in class, criticize every mistake I made, and sometimes just stand behind me, breathing down my neck as he watched me for a solid minute. I was just as scared of him as I was of Lucius.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Harry asked one Potions class.

I looked up from the wiggentree bark I was attempting to cut and pointed my knife at him. "If you ask me that one more time, I swear to Merlin I'll finish what my father started."

Harry threw up his hands in defense. "Okay, okay, sorry."

"You just seem really… on edge," Ron said.

Hermione looked at me with concern. "We're worried about you, Sadie".

I sighed. "For the last time, I'm fine."

"Then why have you been shaking for the past week?" Ron asked.

"I've just been cold," I mumbled. "For seven days."

I reflexively sat straight up in my chair as Snape's footsteps approached our table. "Sharp side, Silverwood," he scolded before walking away to chastise the next unlucky student. I flipped over my knife, trembling so much I cut my left hand in the process.

"Sadie, please just tell us what's wrong," Harry worried.

"I'm bad at cutting things, okay?" I defended.

"Okay, I'm pretty sure you know how to use a knife correctly," Hermione said. "Just tell us what's going on."

"Honestly, just drop it," I said through gritted teeth. "As I've previously stated, I'm fine. In fact, my mental health's at an all-time high right now. I'm completely, one hundred percent fine."

I was not fine. My worry about Snape refereeing the Quidditch match had tripled since the worst (well, only, but still worst) detention of my life. Ron, Hermione, and I managed to get one more chat with Harry in before the match, but we wondered if it would be the last time we ever saw him.

"Don't worry, Harry," I comforted. "We've been practicing the Leg-Locker Curse in case Snape tries anything."

Hermione raised her wand and aimed it at Harry. "Yeah, see? Locomotor Mortis." A jet of purple light flew from her wand to Harry's chest, and his legs were bound by an imaginary rope.

"Hey!" he shouted, bouncing to stay upright.

Hermione snickered to herself. "Sorry. Locomotor Liberis." Harry's legs were freed.

"That was unnecessary," he mumbled, stumbling to regain his balance. "What if you get in trouble though? What if it doesn't work?"

"You'll be fine," Ron consoled. "Even if we do get in trouble, he'll be too busy dealing with us to hex you."

"Better we defend you and get detention than you fall and get your head split open," I said nonchalantly.

Harry grimaced. "That's reassuring." Oliver Wood called out to him and waved him over to Gryffindor's side of the field. "Well, I better get going. See you guys after the game—hopefully." He went to join the rest of the team.

"Remember," Hermione began as we approached the Gryffindor stands, "you have to make that backwards J motion with your hand—"

"We know, you just demonstrated," Ron said through gritted teeth. "Wait, is that Dumbledore?"

Ron pointed towards a man in the teacher's stands with a long, wispy beard, spectacles, and purple robes. There was no doubt about it: Dumbledore was watching.

"Yeah!" I exclaimed. "There's no way Snape would try anything with Dumbledore here!"

"I've never seen Snape look so angry, though." Ron pointed out into the Quidditch field. "Oh, look, they're off—Ouch!"

Someone had hit Ron in the back of the head. We turned around to see, of course, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle.

"Sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there," Draco taunted. "Wonder how much longer Potter can stay on his broom this time? Anyone want to bet?"

I glowered at him. "I wonder how long you'll stay on this balcony if you don't shut up—"

"You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?" he rudely interrupted. "It's all people they feel sorry for—Potter, who's got no parents, the Weasleys, who've got no money—you should join the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains."

Neville turned around to face Draco, his face bright red, but without a hint of hesitancy in his voice: "I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy."

Draco laughed in response. "Longbottom, if brains were gold, you'd be even poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something."

Draco's constant bullying of Ron filled me with rage, and all it took was one look at Ron's teary eyes to push me over the edge. "Stop it, would you?" I clenched my shaking fists, resisting the urge to knock him unconscious.

"You should join the team, Sadie!" he suggested. "You've got no family who actually wants you!"

Something possessed me to pull my wand out of my pocket and direct it towards him. "I said stop!"

All of my anger poured out of me and flowed into my wand, taking the form of a purple light and hitting Draco in the chest. Suddenly, his legs stuck together, and he had to hop just to avoid toppling to the ground. Ron and I couldn't help ourselves but to laugh, but Percy, who had been watching the whole time, didn't find the situation that funny.

"Break it up, you two," he said, putting himself between Draco and I. He quickly performed the countercurse on the former. "First of all, stop being an arse. Second of all, take yourself and your fellow idiots back to the Slytherin stands." He waited until Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle had left before addressing me with wide eyes. "Okay, how did you do that?"

"Do wha—"

"Do you not just realize the skill required for what you just did?" Percy marvelled. "I mean, it was against school rules, so, uh, five points from Gryffindor, but it was amazing."

"And what exactly did I do?"

"You cast a non-verbal spell!" he exclaimed. "You don't start learning about those until sixth year… even I can't do one… just… please tell me your secret."

"I didn't mean to," I said. "I just got angry, and… things happened."

"He's caught it!" Hermione suddenly squealed.

"What?"

"Harry's caught the Snitch!" she sang. "We've won!"

"The game's over already?" I asked. "What did I miss?"

"Weren't you watching?"

"Sorry, I was too busy doing amazing things five years too early."

"Whatever that means," Hermione muttered. "Come on, let's go find Harry."

After a few minutes of searching, we finally found Harry heading back inside, separated from the rest of his team.

"Harry, where were you?" Hermione asked. "We've been looking all over—"

"Nevermind that now," Harry said quickly. "Let's find an empty room, I've got something to tell you…"

He shut the door to the abandoned Charms classroom and explained everything.

"We were right," he declared. "Snape's after the Sorcerer's Stone, and he's using Quirrell to get to it. He asked if he knew how to get past Fluffy—and he said something about Quirrell's 'hocus pocus'—there must be things guarding the Stone besides Fluffy, loads of enchantments I reckon, and Quirrell probably did something that Snape needs to get through—"

"So the Stone's only safe if Quirrell stands up to Snape?" I worried.

Ron sighed. "It'll be gone by next Tuesday."


	12. Everything in This Chapter Is Illegal

**XI. Everything in This Chapter Is Illegal**

You know when you hate someone so much that their sole existence annoys you? Like how when they do even the smallest thing, such as scratch their head, or blink, or breath, you immediately want to set them on fire?

I think that's how Quirrell felt about me.

Whenever Harry, Ron, or Hermione passed Quirrell in the hallway, he would offer them an encouraging smile, an offer of friendship, almost. But whenever I entered the picture, he would ignore me or sometimes even give me a subtle side-eye. He obviously wanted me dead.

The good part about Quirrell was that he definitely hasn't cracked yet. Weeks passed, yet Snape became gradually more frustrated and Quirrell became gradually more stressed—but the latter didn't show any sign of guilt. Snape must have been putting more and more pressure on Quirrell to give him information, but couldn't get anything out of him. I worried that Snape might blackmail poor Quirrell, too.

I had successfully been able to distract myself from my newfound Snape-phobia by preparing for the upcoming exams with Hermione. Instead of being anxious about Snape, I was anxious about the tests! I hadn't slept in three days and the only food and drink I'd had were water, garlic bread, and no less than seventeen cups of coffee. A healthy system, right?

"Why are you two studying already?" Ron asked one evening. "The exams are forever away."

"Two weeks," Hermione corrected. "That's a second to Nicolas Flamel."

"We aren't six hundred years old, Hermione," Harry responded.

"What are you even studying for?" Ron questioned. "You already know it all—"

"'What are we studying for?'" Hermione repeated. "We need to pass these tests to get into second year! I should've started studying a month ago, I don't know what's gotten into me…"

Harry sighed. "They're not even that important—"

"They're _extremely_ important," I argued. "They're going to determine our entire futures! If I don't pass these, I'm going to have to retake first year, and I'll be the only the twelve-year-old there—on top of everyone thinking I'm a serial killer—and then I'll never get a good job because no one wants to hire someone who can't even get through first year! And then I'll end up living on the streets all because I couldn't pass my final exams! Do you want to end up living on the streets, Harry? Do you?"

"I think it's time you get some sleep—"

"Sleep is for the weak," I muttered.

Eventually, Harry and Ron joined Hermione and my study sessions, but only because we made them. The homework the teachers piled on us seemed to grow every day, and the only way to get Harry and Ron to do it was by force. The sessions seemed never-ending to me. Hermione, on the other hand, showed no sign of wanting to quit, and her focus never seemed to waver. I couldn't help but wonder how she did it.

"I'll never remember this," Ron grimaced one afternoon, exasperated.

"That's what these are for," I said, sliding a pack of flashcards I'd made the previous night towards him. He looked as if he wanted to drive a knife through my chest.

"Oh, hi, Hagrid!" Harry said, making me look up from my copy of _Magical Theory._

"What are you doing in the library?" I asked.

Hagrid quickly put the books he was carrying behind his back so we couldn't see the titles. "Just… browsin'." His expression changed from worrisome to suspicious. "You four aren' still lookin' for Nicolas Flamel, are yeh? I told yeh to drop it—"

"We're not," Harry assured to Hagrid's relief.

"We already figured it out," Hermione said. Hagrid's face fell.

"We know what the dog's guarding, too," Ron added. "It's a Sorcerer's St—"

"SHHHHH!" Hagrid said urgently.

"What happened to our code word, Ron?" I asked.

"Sorry, I mean the Philosopher's Stone—"

"That's an awful code word," Hagrid mumbled.

"We just wanted to ask you about some things," I said. "Like what's guarding the St—"

"SHHHHHH!" Hagrid lowered his voice. "Look, come an' see me this evenin'. I can' promise yeh anythin', mind, but don' go shoutin' the name in here. Students aren' supposed ter know." Hagrid hustled away, still hiding the books behind his back.

"What was he hiding?" Harry asked.

"Some books, and I think he got them from here." I began rummaging the shelf where Hagrid was "browsing" before. Every single book I pulled from the shelf had "Dragon" in the title. "He was researching dragons!"

"He's always wanted one," Harry said.

"But they're illegal!" Ron argued. "Everyone knows that dragon breeding was banned in the Warlocks' Convention of 1709. And you can't tame a dragon, either. You should see the burns Charlie has from the wild ones in Romania."

Hermione looked worried at this. "There aren't wild dragons in Britain, though, right?"

"Of course there are," Ron said. "Common Welsh Green and Hebridean Blacks."

"But Hagrid wouldn't keep a dragon if it was illegal, would he?"

"There's only one way to find out," Harry said.

Later that evening, we went straight down to Hagrid's hut, bubbling with questions. He let us in, but seemed a bit jittery. He knew we were going to ask him more about the Stone.

"So, yeh wanted to ask me somethin'?"

"We just wanted to know what's guarding the Stone," Harry said. "Apart from Fluffy."

"I can' tell you," Hagrid said flatly. "I don't know the answer meself, and besides, if I did, I'd be betrayin' Dumbledore!"

"Come on, Hagrid," said Hermione, who was—batting her eyelashes? "Of _course_ you know everything that goes on around here since you're Dumbledore's _favorite_ … we just want to know who he would trust other than you."

Was she… _flirting_ _with Hagrid?_

Hermione sent me a look saying 'what happens in Hagrid's hut _stays_ in Hagrid's hut.'

Hagrid's cheeks were flushed with red and a smile refused to leave his face. "Well, it wouldn' hurt to tell yeh a little," he beamed. "I brough' in Fluffy, o' course, and Dumbledore did summat of his own… and then some o' the teachers did enchantments: Professor McGonagall, Professor Quirrell, Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout, Professor Trelawney, and Professor Snape."

"Snape?!" all four of us exclaimed.

"Not this again," Hagrid sighed. "Snape wouldn' try an' steal the Stone, he's one o' the people protectin' it."

"He's only protecting it so no one suspects him," I countered, remembering how determined he was to know how to get past Fluffy. "And look how well it's working."

Harry gave me a suspicious look. "Are you _sure_ you're not a serial killer?"

"Positive," I muttered, glaring at Harry. "But Snape doesn't know how to get past Fluffy… right?"

"Not a soul knows 'cept me an' Dumbledore," Hagrid said with certainty.

"Hagrid, can we open a window?" Hermione said. "I'm boiling."

Hagrid's certainty turned into nervous, guilty laughter. "Sorry, can't…" He glanced over at the fireplace, which was holding a large black egg.

Ron must have seen it, too. "Hagrid, what's—what's that?"

"That's, er… er…" Hagrid's voice trailed off.

The pieces clicked together. It was a dragon egg.

Ron burst into questions. "Where did you get it? Must've cost you a fortune…"

"Won it from a game o' cards with a stranger," Hagrid explained. "Think he was quite glad ter be rid of it. Norwegian Ridgeback, he is."

"Hagrid, you live in a wooden house," Hermione worried, but Hagrid wasn't listening.

We went to Hagrid's house every day that week to check on the dragon egg. We were all worried about what would happen if Hagrid was caught with an illegal pet, but also secretly anticipating the hatching of the egg. When the egg did hatch, though, Harry, Ron, and Hermione didn't seem as excited about it as I was.

"Almos' there, almos' there," Hagrid kept mumbling until the egg finally cracked open, revealing a small, black Norwegian Ridgeback. His head was almost too big for his body, and his eyes were almost too big for his head. His wings fluttered, but he only ended up falling on his face. He was _adorable_.

I mentally named him Norbert. He just had one of those Norbert faces.

"Awwwwww!" I exclaimed, unable to hold it in. Ron and Hermione respectively looked disgusted and worried, and I think Harry let out a "Eugh!" but hid it behind a smile.

"What's wrong with you guys?" I continued. "Isn't he beautiful?"

"Um, yeah," Harry lied.

"Hagrid, exactly how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow?" Hermione wondered, but, once again, Hagrid wasn't listening. He was petting Norbert, who kept snapping at his fingers with his long, sharp fangs.

"Can I hold him?" I asked, earning a disgusted look from Ron.

"Sure yeh can," Hagrid said, handing me the dragon. I could've sworn Norbert smiled when I stroked his scaly skin. And he didn't try to bite my fingers. What a good boy.

Suddenly, Hagrid's gaze fixed on the window, panicked. "Who was that?"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all ran up to the window, looking to the right.

"Malfoy!" they shouted in unison.

"What about him?" I asked.

"He—he saw the dragon," Hagrid said, his voice trembling.

"Oh, what are we going to do?" Hermione worried. "Malfoy's going to report the dragon, and it's going to be taken away… or worse…"

"Don't listen to them, Norbert," I comforted.

"Norbert?"

"I think it's a very fitting name."

"Norbert," Hagrid said, testing out the name. "I like it! Don't yeh like it, Hermione?"

"Sure," she said, offering a fake smile. "But it doesn't matter what you name it, because you have to set it free."

"Set it free?" Hagrid repeated astoundedly. "He's too little, he'll die!"

"Couldn't you take him back to the village and lose him in another game of cards?" I suggested.

"I can't jus' dump him like that, I can't."

Harry's face lit up. "Ron, doesn't your brother take care of dragons?"

"Yeah, Charlie."

"We could write to him!" Harry suggested. "He could take care of Norbert and then put him back in the wild! That way we could be sure he's in good hands. How does that sound, Hagrid?"

It wasn't an easy task to convince Hagrid to let go of his favorite pet, but after some reassurance, he agreed to the plan.

Now not only did we have to worry about exams and the Stone, we had to worry about getting this illegal dragon illegally transported to Romania. We couldn't focus on our studying because we were too busy anticipating an answer from Charlie. And even I had forgotten about Snape.

Norbert seemed to grow a foot longer every time we went to visit. He could now swallow three dead rats at once, and Hagrid needed help to feed him every night. I was always happy to help, and the others took turns going with me. Ron usually came up with some excuse to get out of it, like "I have to do my Potions essay" or "I'm feeling a bit sick," but tonight Harry and Hermione forced him to go in their stead.

"Couldn't you have asked Hermione?" he complained as we walked down to Hagrid's hut under the Invisibility Cloak. "I have to study for Transfiguration, she knows it all already—"

"Maybe you should've done that instead of binge-eating Bertie Bott's, then," I retorted.

"Maybe Hagrid shouldn't have won that dragon in the first place," he muttered.

Ron barely helped. He stayed by my side so it would look like we were working together, but it was evident that he wanted to be anywhere but Hagrid's hut.

"Aren't you going to help, Ron?" I urged, tossing Norbert another rat.

"Charlie would be proud o' yeh if yeh did," Hagrid said.

Ron grimaced. "I'm not touching a dead rat, okay?"

"Yes, you are," I stated.

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm _not._ "

"Yes, you _are_ —"

"Drop it, would yeh?" Hagrid said. "Ron, if yeh don't wanna help, yer free to go back."

Ron blushed with guilt. "Fine, I'll help."

"You were doing just fine by yourself," he whispered through gritted teeth, kneeling down next to me. "Why can't the stupid animal just eat on his—OW!"

Apparently, Norbert didn't take the words "stupid animal" kindly. His fangs sunk straight into Ron's hand, leaving bite marks that were slowly turning green.

"Serves you right," I muttered.

"Oh, this is awful!" Ron whined. "Norwegian Ridgebacks are poisonous!"

"Venomous," I corrected.

"My word choice is the least of our problems right now!"

"Stop it, you two!" Hagrid shouted. "Yer scaring Norbert! Now take some bandages and out, both o' yeh!" He handed us a roll of gauze and we left, our faces red. I took a teacup from one of the shelves on the wall without either Ron or Hagrid noticing. It relieved my embarrassment, but not my anger.

"Good job, Ron," I said. "Now Hagrid's mad at us because of you."

Ron didn't have a comeback, but refused to admit Norbert was in the right. "Just shut up and bandage my hand, okay?"

"Fine." I wrapped the bandage around the swelling bump Norbert had left.

Then, I remembered the bandages on my own arm. I had been wearing them for years to cover up the Dark Mark. The Dark Mark was a tattoo of a snake with a skull for a head that Voldemort used to brand his followers, and I'd had it for as long as I could remember. Lucius, Narcissa, and a good chunk of their friends had it, and they were proud of it. But I was ashamed. Mine was covered in scratches, some red and fresh and others faded, where I had tried to get rid of it. I didn't want to be reminded that I was destined to be a murderer every time I looked down at my left arm. That's why I covered it up.

I pulled up my sleeve and saw that the bandages were worn.

"Well, I need new ones anyway," I mumbled to myself. But could I replace them here, in front of Ron? What would he think of me when he saw I had the Dark Mark? Of course, he already knew I was Voldemort's daughter, but the fact that there's still a piece of him engraved into my skin is a different level of awful.

"New what?" Ron asked."What happened to your arm?"

"Just don't look." I turned away from him as I unraveled the old bandages.

"Is —is that the Dark Mark?" Ron questioned, his eyes wide.

"I said don't look, Ron."

"I know, but… is it?"

I put the new bandages around the Mark to stall answering.

"Yeah, it is," I finally admitted. "I didn't want it though… I think he gave it to me when I was a baby… I don't know, I'm sorry—"

"Why are you apologizing?"

"For who I am," I said, unable to stop myself. "My father is the reason that Harry's parents are dead, and countless others—and he terrorized the wizarding world for years—and he—he started a war, Ron. And I'm what's left of him."

"But you're not him," Ron consoled. "You didn't ask for that mark. You didn't ask for any of it. _He_ killed and terrorized those people. Not you."

"You really think that?"

"Of course I do," Ron chuckled. "Plus, you're ten times scarier than him."

"Thanks," I said, lightly hitting him on the shoulder. He put the Invisibility Cloak around us as we walked back towards the castle. "Please don't tell Harry and Hermione about the Mark," I quickly added.

"I won't," Ron said, "as long as you admit I didn't deserve that dragon bite."

"Fine," I grumbled. "You didn't."

I couldn't have had a better friend than Ron in that moment. Even it he was a bit of an arse at times.

By the next day, we had a plan. Charlie had written back saying to meet his friends on the Astronomy Tower at midnight on Saturday. There, we would give them the dragon and all would be well.

But all was not well. Ron's hand was swelling by the minute, and it became so painful that he had no choice but to go to Madam Pomfrey. He lied and said it was a dog bite, but she seemed a bit skeptical. Luckily, she didn't ask questions.

When we went to see him that evening, we found yet another thing to worry about.

"Malfoy came up here to taunt me," Ron said. "He said he needed to borrow a book from me just so he could laugh at me. He kept threatening to tell Madam Pomfrey what _really_ bit me."

"Don't worry," Hermione said. "It'll all be over at midnight on Saturday."

"Midnight on Saturday!" Ron exclaimed, bolting upright in his bed. "I forgot… Charlie's note was in the book Malfoy took! Oh no, he'll go to Dumbledore, we'll all be expelled, Hagrid'll lose his job…"

"I can talk to Draco," I offered, which didn't seem to impress the other three. "And by talk to him, I mean threaten to drown him in the Great Lake if he says a word about this," I added.

"Don't," Harry said. "That would only make it worse. Besides, we have the Invisibility Cloak. Malfoy doesn't know about that."

"Let's hope so," I worried.

It wasn't easy for Hagrid to say goodbye to Norbert. He had packed him in a crate full of rats and his teddy bear in case he gets lonely.

"Bye, Norbert!" Hagrid cried, tears rolling down his face. "Mummy loves you!"

Even with the strength of Harry, Hermione, and me combined, carrying the crate up the never-ending staircase was quite a challenge. We had to stop to catch our breath after every other step. It wasn't until we were almost to the Astronomy Tower that we heard voices.

"You don't understand, Professor!" squeaked a small voice that unmistakebly belonged to Draco. We froze. "Harry Potter's coming, he's bringing a dragon—"

"Nonsense!" came McGonagall's stern tone. "Detention! And twenty points from Slytherin! I'll have to see Professor Snape about you and your lying…"

We saw McGonagall's figure drag off Draco, and we waited a full twenty seconds before we began moving again. Once we made it to the Astronomy Tower, we threw the Invisibility Cloak off and burst out laughing.

"Malfoy's got detention!" Hermione exclaimed. "I could sing!"

"Don't," Harry and I said quickly.

A few minutes later, Charlie's friends swooped down to the tower on their broomsticks and greeted us with cheerful faces. They didn't seem at all surprised or scared when they saw me. Either they didn't recognize me or they were decent people.

They showed Harry, Hermione, and I a harness they had rigged up to help transport Norbert. We helped them buckle in Norbert safely, and then thanked them as they mounted their brooms and flew away with the dragon.

I was a bit sad that Norbert was gone, but it was a great relief to know that he was someone else's problem now. So, I joined Harry and Hermione in their quiet laughter as we made our way back down the winding staircase.

Suddenly, we saw a light shine in front of us. A lamp being held by the last person we wanted to see that night.

"Well, well, well," Filch whispered. "Aren't we in trouble?"

We had left the Invisibility Cloak on the Astronomy Tower.


	13. Detention

**XII. I'm Doing a Very Bad Job of Not Getting Detention**

We are actually the stupidest people on Earth.

So, we're walking up to the Astronomy Tower. We see Draco get detention. Have a good silent laugh about it. We reach the top and take off the Invisibility Cloak. We meet some pretty cool 18-year-olds and get rid of an illegal dragon that (rightfully) bit Ron… everything's good, right?

Wrong. _Nothing_ is good.

Do you know what we did after all of that hard work? After all of our skillfully crafted illegal activity?

We. Didn't. Put. The. Invisibility. Cloak. Back. On.

Nope, we just skipped off into the sunset, leaving our one line of defense against Filch and his demon cat on the Astronomy Tower.

No offense to us or anything, but we're absolute idiots.

I'm kidding. Full offense.

Oh, and do you want to know what makes this whole situation even worse? No, you don't. But I'm going to tell you anyway.

Neville's here, too! He overheard Draco say he was going to catch us for carrying a dragon and decided to come warn us. We deserved to be punished for our carelessness, but Neville? He was innocent.

But did I feel guilty? No. I was too busy wallowing in self-loathing to feel any other emotion.

And now, we were all in McGonagall's office, getting a lecture about how we shouldn't be out of bed at night when it really should've been about how ridiculously idiotic we are.

"I'm absolutely disgusted," McGonagall scolded, her words hissing like fire. It was the angriest I had ever seen her. I was staring down at my feet, but I could still see Draco smirking out of the corner of my eye, reveling in our suffering. "Four Gryffindor students out of bed in one night! I've never seen such a thing—well, I've suspected such a thing before, but they were much better at concealing their rule-breaking than you!"

We get it, okay? We're failures.

"And I never would've expected this behavior from any of you," McGonagall continued. "You, Mr. Longbottom, there's never an excuse to wander the halls after curfew, even if you believe it to be the right thing to do. Mr. Potter, I thought Gryffindor meant more to you. Miss Granger, I thought you had more sense. And you, Miss Silverwood, I thought you valued your education more than this."

I winced at those words. Professor McGonagall was one of the first people to give me her trust, and in one night, I lost it.

"As punishment, fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor."

"Fifty?" the four of us exclaimed.

"Fifty points _each."_ Our eyes widened.

"B-but, Professor, that's two hundred points," I pointed out.

"Are you implying that I can't do basic math, Silverwood?" McGonagall fumed. I shook my head "And in addition to the deduction of points, the five of you will have detention tomorrow night."

"Sorry, Professor," Draco chimed in, "but I must have heard you wrong. You said the five of us, but I believe you meant the four."

"And I believe I already gave you detention."

"But, if we're being reasonable here," Draco began, "shouldn't my detention be lifted? I mean, I was _right._ I warned you so that you could catch them—I was only trying to help, Professor—"

"You should've helped when you were allowed to be out of bed," McGonagall declared. Regardless of how upset I was, I still enjoyed her sassing Draco. "Back to your dorms!" she ordered. "All of you!"

Hermione cried herself to sleep that night.

The next morning, Gryffindor house woke up to an unpleasant surprise: We had gone from first to last place overnight.

Everyone was denying that the situation was real. "There must be some kind of mistake!" "We couldn't have lost two hundred points!" "Probably something Snape did!"

But soon enough, the word got around that it was Sadie Silverwood, Harry Potter, and some other foolish first years.

Mr. Celebrity Harry Potter wasn't taking this too well. He didn't walk with confidence anymore. He didn't give a friendly wave to passing first years. Instead, he stayed to the side of the corridor where no one could see him. He even kept pushing his bangs in front of his face so that they covered his scar. Harry used to be the popular kid at Hogwarts, but now, he was hated by the entire student body. Welcome to the club, Harry.

Hermione wasn't in good shape, either. She hadn't answered a single question in class since the incident, careful not to draw attention to herself. She had even said that she wanted to crawl into a hole and be forgotten. Hermione had never been popular, but never exactly hated either, and I wished the latter wasn't the one she had to experience. I felt bad for her, but not for Harry. It was almost satisfying to see the beloved Harry Potter get even a miniscule taste of what my life was like.

I didn't know how Neville was doing. I never spoke with him.

Enough about them. Let's talk about me.

I was, in fact, doing comparatively fantastic. Everyone had forgotten I was Voldemort's daughter. I was used to an entire population wanting me dead, so a few students holding a grudge against me was nothing. I would much rather be one of the people that let Slytherin win the House Cup than the girl who's going to murder your families.

Unlike Harry, Hermione, and Neville, I drew plenty of attention to myself. I answered every single question in class—after all, I had to earn my points back somehow. At the rate I was going, it would only take a few days to get all fifty. Maybe then I'd be the least hated out of the four of us, a rare occurrence that happens zero times every two millennia.

But in Transfiguration, I was just like the others: quiet, wishing I could become invisible. I couldn't bear to face McGonagall after losing every ounce of respect she might have had for me. Hermione and I no longer sat at the front of the class. Neither of us were the first to successfully cast a spell, or the quickest to answer a question. Neither of us wanted any attention.

After the incident, Harry, Hermione, and I swore to ourselves that we would never meddle in things that didn't concern us again. We couldn't afford to lose even another half a point. But Harry and I were put to the test the afternoon of our detention, and we just couldn't help ourselves.

We were walking back from the library when we passed a usually empty classroom, but it wasn't empty this time. The door was closed, and we could hear crying from inside.

"No—no—not again, please…" It was Quirrell, and there was only one person he could've been talking to: Snape. Harry motioned for me to to come closer to the door, but I shook my head.

"We promised we'd stay out of trouble," I reminded him in a whisper.

"But this could be important!" he whispered back, his eyes wide with urgency.

The curiosity was eating at me until I couldn't take it any longer. I had to know more. With a reluctant sigh, I stepped closer to the door and put my ear up to the cold marble.

"B-b-but… I-I can't…" Quirrell continued. "All right… okay…"

Harry and I exchanged a worried glance. Quirrell had finally cracked.

For fear of being caught if we stayed any longer, we hurried back to the library to tell Hermione and Ron the news.

"So what are we going to do?" Ron asked. "Snape's probably figured out how to get past Fluffy on his own…"

"We have to go to Dumbledore," Hermione said.

"But we have no proof!" I argued. "Besides, we're not supposed to know about the Stone."

"And Dumbledore knows we hate Snape," Harry added. "He'll think we made it up to get him sacked."

Ron looked disappointed. "But if we just do some poking around—"

"We've done enough poking around," Harry declared. "We can't afford another detention."

Detention started at eleven o'clock that evening. Harry, Hermione, Neville, Draco, and I met in the Great Hall, our heads hung in shame. Filch led the five of us outside into the dark night.

I found myself wishing I was curled up in bed in the Gryffindor dorm, falling asleep next to the wind. Although I had slept till two that day, I had trouble keeping myself awake. Wind blew the nighttime cold in our faces, and the only thing we could see was Filch's lantern and the little area covered by its dim light. I would've much rather done this inside.

"I bet you'll think twice about breaking another rule after this, eh?" he jeered. "Hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me. Shame they let the old punishments die, I miss the screams… Still have the chains in my office if the opportunity should arise…" I prayed Filch wouldn't be leading our detention.

We finally came to a stop. A lantern shone, and I was delighted to see who the owner was.

"That you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started." It was Hagrid, Fang beside him.

I let out a sigh of relief. Detention with Hagrid could actually be fun. And he would have to be understanding of our rule breaking, since it was his fault we were here in the first place.

Filch must have seen the joy on our faces. "I suppose you think you'll be enjoying yourself, eh? Well, think again, because it's into the forest you're going!"

"Wait," I said. "We went to a place that was off-limits, so our punishment is… going to a place that's off-limits?"

"You say that like it's a good thing," Draco said tremulously. "There's a reason it's called the _Forbidden_ Forest! There's werewolves in there…" He shuddered. "And Acromantulas…"

"Well, you should've thought of werewolves and Acromantulas before you went and snuck out of bed," Filch replied. "Now, off you go!"

As we followed Hagrid and Fang towards the deep woods, excitement replaced all of my fears. Ever since Dumbledore said the Forbidden Forest was, well, forbidden, it was the one place I wanted to explore. Now, we were being forced to visit the forest, and Filch considered it a punishment. I, on the other hand, considered it an adventure.

But, as always, Draco's existence ruined everything.

"I'm not going in that forest," he declared, refusing to take another step further.

Hagrid shot him an incredulous glance. "Yeh will if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts."

"Or are you too scared?" I mocked.

"W-what? I'm—I'm not scared!" Draco defended, which was code for "I'm terrified but I don't want to admit it."

Draco regained his composure. "Besides, this is servant stuff," he whined. "Not something for school students to do."

"We get it," I said, annoyed. "You're an entitled rich kid who can't stand to be anywhere without a house-elf."

Draco sighed. "We grew up in the same house, Sadie. We're the exact same amount of rich."

"I wear it better."

Draco and I continued arguing until we reached the entrance of the Forbidden Forest and Hagrid began to speak.

"See tha' silvery stuff on the ground?" he asked "Unicorn blood. There's a unicorn that's bin hurt badly by summat. Second time in a week. An' I found one dead last Wednesday."

I was pleased to see Draco shudder at this news.

"Now," Hagrid continued. "The five o' you are gonna help me an' Fang find whatever's bin hurting the unicorns."

"But Hagrid," Draco protested, "what if it finds us first?"

"Nothin's gonna hurt yeh as long as yer with me," Hagrid assured. "Now, let's split in ter two groups. There's seven of us, so it'll be uneven…"

"Can't you count?" Draco said. "There's six, not seven. Unless you're counting your dog."

"Me dog's got a name, yeh know," Hagrid replied. "Fang. An' yes, I'm countin' him." He pointed to Draco and me. "Now, how 'bout we separate you two…"

"Thank god," I muttered. "I can't stand being with him another minute—"

"We could tell," Hagrid said through gritted teeth.

He sorted us into groups: Draco and Neville with Fang, and me, Harry, and Hermione with Hagrid. The former took the left path while we took the right.

My excitement began to dissipate as we ventured into the eerie forest. The trees slowly began to look like faces, and I constantly felt as if I was being watched. The only thing making me feel safe was the others' breathing.

After a few minutes, that same nervous feeling I had about Snape's detention began to settle in: Something wasn't right. I remembered what Hagrid said about how nothing would try to hurt us, but it didn't help me relax.

Hagrid yelling at us to get behind a tree didn't help.

He drew his bow and arrow, muttering to himself. "There's summat in here that shouldn't be…" He motioned for us to follow him, and we slowly creeped through the thick brush of trees, careful not to make a sound.

In the midst of the silence, I heard something—or someone—speaking to me.

" _Come,_ " a shrill male voice hissed in the back of my mind. " _Come to me._ " I brushed it off as a figment of my imagination.

"Do you guys hear anything?" I whispered as casually as possible.

"No," Harry said. "Do you?"

"No, just wondering," I replied, telling myself that there was no voice at all. It was just the wind.

Then, I felt my Dark Mark burn.

"Ow!" I exclaimed, clutching my left forearm.

"Everythin' okay, Sadie?" Hagrid worried.

"I'm fine, thanks," I said, shaking my arm to get rid of the pain.

"Last time you said you were fine, you had a week-long panic attack," Hermione reminded. "Why won't you just talk to us?"

I considered telling them about the voices, but I didn't want to scare them. Besides, I didn't need another person knowing I have the Mark. "This time, I'm fine," I assured them, only to earn more suspicious looks. "I promise."

At that moment, we heard something rustle in the grass. And it wasn't the wind. We froze, and Hagrid raised his bow.

"Show yerself!" he shouted. "I'm armed!"

We heard footsteps drawing nearer. Gradually, the figure came into view: a centaur with glistening red hair and a chestnut body. Harry and Hermione stared in awe, as if this was new to them.

"What's wrong?" I asked them.

"Is that—is that a _centaur_?" Hermione said, fascinated.

"Yeah," I replied nonchalantly before realizing that neither of them had grown up with exposure to magic. "Wait, do they not have centaurs in the Muggle world?"

"Of course not," Harry said.

"You have horses, though, right? And unicorns?"

"Horses, but not unicorns."

"Yeah, I stopped believing in unicorns when I was nine," Hermione shrugged.

"Nine?" Harry questioned.

"I know, I know, my brother made fun of me too," she admitted. "But I wasn't wrong, apparently."

"So you guys never had a pet unicorn?" I asked, unable to grasp the fact that Muggles didn't think unicorns were real.

"Did you?" Harry inquired, his brow creased.

"Yeah. Glimmer. The Malfoys made me give her away when they found out, though."

"You named her _Glimmer_?"

I crossed my arms and turned away from them. "I was six, okay?"

Hagrid interrupted our conversation. "Ronan, this is Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, an' Sadie Silverwood. Students up at the school. This is Ronan, you three."

"Do you learn much at this school of yours?" Ronan asked.

"A bit," Hermione said nervously.

"A bit? Well that's something," he said. "Mars is bright tonight."

"That's nice, Ronan," Hagrid said. "Listen, summat's out hurtin' the unicorns, so I was wonderin' if yeh've seen anythin'."

Ronan stared back for a long while before answering. "Always the innocent are the first victims."

Hagrid seemed to be getting impatient. "Yeah, but have yeh seen anythin', Ronan?"

"Mars is unusually bright tonight," the centaur repeated.

"Yeah, but I was thinkin' a bit… closer to home, maybe?"

Ronan once again took a while to answer. "The forest hides many secrets."

Then, another centaur appeared, this one with black hair.

"Oh, hullo, Bane!" Hagrid greeted. "Seen anythin' unusual lately? A unicorn's bin hurt."

"Mars is unusually bright tonight," Bane said as if he were in a trance.

"So we've heard," Hagrid muttered. "Well, we better be off. If yeh see anythin', on Earth, mind, lemme know."

And with that, we fell silent as we once again followed Hagrid down the path.

Then, that mysterious voice came back again.

" _Come to me, my child,_ " it said, making the Mark on my arm sting again. It wasn't the wind this time. I looked around for the source of the voice, but to no avail.

"Look, Hagrid!" Hermione suddenly cried, pointing in the direction of a red light. "Red sparks! They're in trouble!"

"Stay here," Hagrid said, and he left to go find Neville and Draco.

Meanwhile, Harry, Hermione, and I only spoke in silent glances, for fear that whatever came after the others might come after us. What if it was the source of the voice?

The voice seemed to be losing its patience. " _Come, my child, now,_ " it ordered with agitation. " _Or suffer the consequences._ " A cry threatened to escape my lips as more pain shot up my left arm. I had to turn away from Harry and Hermione so they wouldn't see the pained expression on my face.

Soon enough, Hagrid came back, dragging Draco by the collar. Neville and Fang followed close behind. Apparently, Draco had snuck up behind Neville to scare him, so the latter panicked and shot up red sparks.

"'Fraid we're gonna hafta change groups, here," Hagrid declared. "Neville, Harry, why don' the two of yeh swap? There we go." He gave Harry an apologetic look before we continued on our journey.

The voice was getting more and more persistent. It repeated various versions of "come" in my head, over and over, nearly driving me mad. The pain in my arm grew stronger, and there was nothing I could do but blink back tears and pretend like everything was okay.

" _You're a very talented young witch,_ " it suddenly said, and the pain in my arm stopped all at once. It had switched tactics: threatening to flattery. " _You could be so… useful. It's a shame you won't cooperate._ " It let out a breathy, yet maniacal, laugh, making every hair on the back of my neck stand up.

" _What do you want from me?_ " I thought, trying to communicate with it.

" _Join me,_ " it answered simply. " _I'd like to speak to you in person, Sadina._ " It took everything I had not to scream at the use of my full name. Voldemort may have killed a lot of innocent people, but the number one reason I hate him is because of the wretched name he gave me. Luckily, I legally got it shortened to Sadie, a much better one. Of course, Rita Skeeter wrote an article about how my name-changing was just the beginning of my psychopathic tendencies, but thankfully, everyone's known me as "Sadie" since.

Should I have told the others I was hearing voices? Looking back on it… well, yes, of course I should've. But at the time, I didn't want to scare them. They have more important things to worry about than me.

Suddenly, a scream pierced through the still air. Suddenly, Draco and Fang came running up the hill.

"Found… the… dead… unicorn," Draco explained. He paused to catch his breath before elaborating. "Someone was there—probably the person who killed it—and they were trying to drink its blood…"

"Drink its blood?" Hagrid exclaimed. "Gallopin' gorgons, where's Harry…"

"He's still back there," Draco said.

Hagrid looked like he was holding back sixty different curse words. He took a deep breath and continued questioning Draco.

" _Don't ignore me,_ " the disembodied voice commanded, but then immediately returned to its sweet, manipulative tone. " _Why don't you leave? They're not paying attention to you. Just leave the path. I'll find you. We can talk._ "

I considered it for a moment. The voice had already threatened me, and I didn't want to "suffer the consequences." But then again, I wanted even less to have a chat with it. I didn't know who it was, let alone why it wanted to talk to me in the first place. I had to find a way out of this.

" _Well, um, I'm kind of in detention right now._ " I responded, which was a pathetic excuse. " _So, maybe not. I mean, I don't want to get in trouble or anything…_ "

" _Don't worry about that_ ," it snapped.

The same curious feeling from earlier had overtaken me. " _You could at least tell me who you are_."

" _You'll see_."

" _If you won't tell me who you are, I'm not going to wander off and talk to you_ ," I retorted, hoping I wouldn't regret it.

" _Fine,_ " the voice snarled. " _Then say you'll join me. Now. Or I'll be forced to do something you won't like._ "

" _Get out of my head,_ " I impulsively commanded.

" _So that's a no, then?_ " it said. " _Pity._ "

The pain in my arm returned, but this time, I couldn't hide it. It was far worse than it had been the whole night. Hagrid, Hermione, Neville, and even Draco crowded around me, all voicing their concern ("Are you okay?" "What's wrong?" "What happened to her, Hagrid?"), but my shrieks drowned them out. I fell to my knees, clutching my left arm to try and ease the pain, but the agony had already spread throughout my body.

"Is it the thing?" Draco asked, to which I nodded. Even he didn't share my secret. I liked to think he was being respectful, but he probably just liked having the blackmail. Although, for the first time in a long time, he seemed genuinely concerned about me.

"What thing?" Hermione inquired.

"None of your business, Granger."

The pain circulated in my head, and I could feel myself letting go…

" _Make it stop, please,_ " I begged the voice in my mind. " _I'll do anything, just don't kill me, please—_ "

" _You should've listened while you had the chance, foolish girl,_ " it mocked.

My eyes rolled into the back of my head, and everything faded to black.

* * *

Light flooded into my eyes. Everything in front of me was blurry, but after a few blinks, I made out Dumbledore's face above me, sighing in relief. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Hagrid were to the other side of me I found I was lying on a bed of some sort, and other beds surrounded me. Shelves of various potions and pills lined the wall opposite. I was in the Hospital Wing. Alive.

"Thank Merlin that worked," Dumbledore muttered to himself, kneeling by my bed. "I don't know what I would've done if it hadn't…" Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Hagrid rushed over to me, overjoyed.

I sat up. "Thank Merlin what worked?" Just leaning forward made my skull pound and my vision double.

"Lie back down, you need to relax _,_ " Dumbledore said. I did so as I groaned in pain at my agonizing headache, holding my hand to my forehead as if that would make it stop.

"Yeah, Sadie," Harry chimed in. "Headaches are _my_ thing." I forced a laugh as I lay back down, allowing my eyes to refocus. Madam Pomfrey brought me a glass of water and some pills that fixed my headache instantly.

"But I do suppose you deserve an explanation," Dumbledore said. "What's the last thing you remember?"

It took a few seconds to get my mind functioning again. But eventually, all the memories flooded back: detention in the Forbidden Forest, the dying unicorns, the voice, and the pain.

"Screaming a lot and blacking out," I answered.

"Good," Dumbledore said. "Then this won't take long at all. Of course, Hagrid brought you here to the hospital wing first thing, and then proceeded to my office to explain everything to me."

"Why weren't you asleep?"

"I'm a busy man, Miss Silverwood," Dumbledore explained. "Sleep simply doesn't fit into my schedule. Anyways, when I came here, Madam Pomfrey was trying to use _Rennervate_ on you—a spell for awaking the unconscious—but it wouldn't work. We found you weren't breathing, and nearly pronounced you dead." He paused to let me take all of this in.

I stared blankly. "I wasn't breathing?"

"Indeed."

"It was terrifying," Hermione said.

Dumbledore took a deep breath. "But, thankfully, your heart was still beating, so I decided you must have been forced into a Bewitched Sleep."

Harry furrowed his brow. "A what?".

"It's a state where one can sleep forever until the curse is broken, never dying."

"So like _Sleeping Beauty_?" Hermione asked.

"Exactly," Dumbledore said, and I nodded as if I knew what they were talking about. "Naturally, I tried the countercurse, and it worked."

There was a long silence before I finally broke it. "Why would I be in a Bewitched Sleep?"

"I don't know," Dumbledore admitted. "It was as if someone had tried to kill you, but was too weak to carry out the task."

Dumbledore had to be right. After all, the voice had threatened me with death. Was I so amazing that I couldn't die?

"That's so cool," I marvelled.

"Cool?" Hermione nearly shouted. "I thought I'd lost my best friend for good, and you're going to tell me that's _cool?_ "

"Yeah," I said, causing Hermione to put her head in her hands. "I mean, someone _failed_ to kill me. Doesn't that make me pretty awesome?"

"I expected no other response from you," Dumbledore chuckled. "Might I talk to you alone, Miss Silverwood?"

"I guess."

The other four left and Dumbledore drew the curtains around my bed. "Miss Granger said you were holding your left arm during the incident. Is that so?"

I did that L trick with my hands. "Yeah, why?"

He paused. "Do you happen to have the Dark Mark?"

The question caught me off guard. "Sorry, what?"

"I asked if you had the Dark Mark," he repeated.

I was still reluctant to answer. "Why do you ask?"

"Because if you do, then I fear Voldemort may have played some part in this," Dumbledore explained.

"But Voldemort's dead."

"So we think," Dumbledore said simply. But Voldemort couldn't be alive, could he? I shook the thought away.

"Yes, I have it," I finally admitted. "I didn't want it, though, and I cover it up—"

"You don't have to prove yourself, Miss Silverwood," Dumbledore assured, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Since he was only around until you were one, I doubt you had much say in the matter. And, was the Mark the 'thing' Mr. Malfoy was referring to?"

I nodded.

Madam Pomfrey popped her head in. "Professor, it's quite late, and she needs rest. Maybe you could talk to her tomorrow?"

"I'm headmaster. I'll talk to her whenever I want."

Madam Pomfrey simply sighed and left.

" _Narcisista_ ," I muttered.

"You know, saying words in Spanish that are almost identical to their English equivalents tends to defeat the purpose." I rolled my eyes at his comment. "Now, where were we? Ah, yes, me interrogating you. So, Miss Granger and Mr. Potter also said you were hearing things. Or, more accurately, asked if anyone heard anything then denied hearing anything yourself. Apparently, you have quite the tendency of keeping to yourself when something's wrong."

I shrugged. "I don't like to worry people."

"Well, if what they suspect is true, then I'm completely okay with being worried."

Should I tell Dumbledore? I needed to talk to someone. But what if whoever the voice belonged to wanted me to keep it a secret? What if they'd come and stab me in my sleep if I told Dumbledore?

"No," I said flatly.

"You didn't hear anything?"

"I'm not telling you whether or not I heard voices," I clarified. "So, a 'no' to your request."

"I never specified 'voices,'" Dumbledore said.

"I'm still not answering your question," I declared.

"You know, I could give you detention for that."

" _Another_ detention?"

"Yes."

"I literally just almost died, Professor," I replied. "Cut me some slack."

Dumbledore sighed. "You're going to use that as an excuse for everything now, aren't you?"

I grinned. "Precisely."

"Well, I see your near-death experience hasn't rid you of your sarcasm," he said. "Fine, then, I'll leave you to rest, and perhaps, think. Goodnight." With that, he exited through the curtains.

Could the voice have belonged to Voldemort?

" _Come to me, my child,_ " it had said. Did he mean "my child" as in "my daughter"?

No, no, no. It couldn't have been him. He's dead. He's gone. That voice was probably just Harry trying to freak me out. Everything's good.

But the voice did use my birth name…

And who else would want some random eleven-year-old girl to join them other than her father?

I continued arguing with myself until Harry, Ron, and Hermione came rushing through the curtains.

Harry put the celebrations to a halt. "I figured out Snape's plan."

"Do tell," I said.

"Snape wants the Stone for Voldemort—"

"Don't say the name!" Ron exclaimed.

"Sorry. Anyway, Vol—You-Know-Who is waiting in the forest…"

"He's waiting in the forest?" I repeated.

"Yeah. And once Snape steals the Stone, he's going to use it to bring Voldemort back to life!" Harry exclaimed. "It was Voldemort who was drinking that unicorn's blood…"

Harry continued on, but I wasn't listening. I had my own problems to deal with.

There was no doubting it now: that voice did belong to Voldemort. It was Voldemort who had tried to kill me.

And he almost succeeded.


	14. We Take on Challenges

**XIII. We Take on Challenges That Are Strangely Tailored to Our Own Abilities**

No matter how much I hated that voice, I really wished it would come back and help me with my exams. Despite my thorough preparation, the sheer pressure made my mind go blank on every question. After some thinking, I was able to recall all the answers to memory, but my test anxiety convinced me I had failed. The practical exams were less stressful—it's far easier to demonstrate a spell than to answer questions about it.

But, the exams turned out to be less of a disaster than I thought. I had been worried about running out of time because I take longer to read than the average person, and Dumbledore overheard. He offered to administer my exams himself and give me extra time. The only downside was that I had to take them earlier than everyone else, so I had even less time to study. Although, I enjoyed watching Harry, Ron, and Hermione stress out the day of the exams while I had already gotten it over with.

The best thing about it was that I didn't have to attend any more classes for the rest of the year. I was free. But on exam day as I was taking a stroll through the corridors, Snape decided to prove once again that I wasn't his favorite.

"SILVERWOOD!" he yelled, reminiscent of the time he gave me detention.

I froze before turning around. "What did I do?"

"Why aren't you taking your exams?" The coolness in his voice didn't hide the irritation.

"Why aren't you administering yours?" I didn't regret mouthing off to him at all. We wouldn't have to see each other again until next September. He'd forget by then.

"I don't have a class right now," he snapped. "But you do. Why aren't you there?"

"Dumbledore let me take my exams early," I said with a shrug.

His eyes narrowed into a demanding glare. "Why?"

"I'm dyslexic, so I get extra time."

"Dyslexic," he repeated. "I'll remember that."

Something about his tone made me hope he would forget that over the summer, too.

Taking the exams early wasn't nearly the hardest part. My mind couldn't seem to forget that Voldemort himself had tried to kill me a couple of days ago. The thought that the immense pain could return and finished me off for good kept creeping up, no matter how many times I attempted to force it out. I tried focusing on the test to distract myself from my fears, but my fears ended up distracting me from the test.

Harry felt the same way. After all, he wasn't the only one who was attacked in the Forbidden Forest that night.

Hermione and Ron, on the other hand, were able to give their full attention to the exams. Even the Sorcerer's Stone had left their minds until the test-taking came to an end, and they were overjoyed when it did. Hermione said it was far easier than she thought it would be, and Ron was simply glad to be done. But Harry and I weren't free from any stress, considering Voldemort might come after us at any moment. Harry's scar burning at every moment wasn't a good sign.

"Go see Madam Pomfrey," Ron suggested.

"I'm not ill," Harry said. "I think it's trying to tell me something. What if it means danger's coming?"

"Harry, relax," Hermione said. "The Stone's safe as long as Dumbledore's around. He's the only person You-Know-Who was ever scared of."

"Yeah, and Hagrid said he wouldn't tell anyone how to get past Fluffy," I tried to assure him, but the uncertainty in my voice gave away my fear. I had to agree with Harry: danger was coming.

Suddenly, Harry jumped to his feet. "We've got to go see Hagrid. Right now."

Before we could ask him to explain, he was already sprinting in the direction of Hagrid's hut. We exchanged confused looks, but followed him nonetheless.

"Don't you think it's a bit odd that what Hagrid wants most is a dragon, and then some stranger shows up with an egg in his pocket?" Harry questioned as he caught his breath. "Do you really think that's a coincidence? Why didn't I see this before?"

"What are you talking about?" I said, but Harry ignored me.

Harry banged on Hagrid's door with urgency. Hagrid answered the knocking, and a smile appeared on his face when he saw us.

"Finished yer exams, eh?" Hagrid said. "Got time fer tea?"

Ron lit up. "That would be—"

"Sorry, Hagrid, we can't," Harry interrupted. "We've got to ask you something. It's important."

"Well, come on in, then," Hagrid offered, suspicious. He was expecting a question about the Stone.

Harry started speaking as soon as the door was shut. "The night you won Norbert, who did you win it from?"

"Dunno," said Hagrid, who seemed much more relaxed since our question was unrelated to the Stone. "He wouldn' take his cloak off. Yeh get plenty folks like that in Hogsmeade—might've bin a dragon dealer, yeh never know."

"And what did you talk to him about?" Harry inquired. "Hogwarts? Your job?"

"Maybe," Hagrid answered. "Can' remember too well 'cause he kept getting me drinks… but he did ask me 'bout my job, and I told him 'bout what I do, what sorts o' creatures I take care of… told him I wanted a dragon, o' course, and he said he'd gimme his egg but he had ter be sure I could handle it… so I told him after Fluffy a dragon would be easy."

Harry seemed alarmed by this news. "Did he ask about Fluffy?"

"Well, o' course he did. Who wouldn' ask 'bout Fluffy?" Hagrid joked. "So, I told him Fluffy's a piece o' cake once you calm him down… all yeh gotta do is play him some music and he goes straight ter sleep—Hey, where are yeh goin'?"

It was too late. Harry was already dashing out the door, and Hermione, Ron, and I followed, still confused.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Ron asked.

"Don't you guys get it?" Harry snapped. We shook our heads. "It could've been Snape under that cloak! Or Voldemort! And then they'd have all the information they need to get the Stone! We have to go to Dumbledore—where's his office?"

"I'll show you," I said, walking so fast that Harry had a hard time keeping up. I didn't want to believe that Harry was right, but I couldn't deny the possibility. And it absolutely terrified me.

What would Voldemort do to me if he came back? He'd already tried to kill me once for not following in his footsteps. Would he try again, and succeed? Or would he force me to be the mini-version of him everyone thought I was? Would he make me kill my friends—or worse, expel them? I shuddered at the thought.

"Where do you four think you're going?" someone asked. We whipped around to see Professor McGonagall squinting at us with suspicion.

"Professor Dumbledore's office," I said.

"Why?" McGonagall inquired.

I looked expectantly at the other three, waiting for them to come up with an excuse. Of course, they stared back at me, too scared to lie to her.

"Oh, we just have questions about the exams," I lied. McGonagall didn't quite seem

convinced, probably due to my critical lack of lying skills.

"You can ask me."

"No, you look busy, we woulddidn't want to bother you—"

"You couldn't speak to Professor Dumbledore if you tried, anyway," McGonagall informed us. "He left an hour ago on urgent notice from the Ministry."

"He's gone?" Harry squeaked. "But this is important!"

"More important than the Ministry of Magic?" McGonagall retorted.

"Yes!" I said. "The entire fate of the wizarding world rests on this!"

McGonagall put her head in her hands and sighed. "Look, Silverwood, final exams are important, but not _that_ important—"

"This isn't about exams!" Harry interjected. "It's about the Sorcerer's Stone!"

McGonagall looked as if Snape had given points to Gryffindor. "You know about—how—"

"It's a long story," Harry sighed. "We think someone's going to steal it."

"Well," McGonagall said, uninterested, "Professor Dumbledore will be back tomorrow, and I'm sure you could voice your concerns then."

"We can't wait that long—"

"I assure you the Stone is very well-protected and can last another day."

"But—"

"I know what I'm talking about," McGonagall snapped. "Now, why don't you forget about the Stone and go enjoy the lovely weather?" She hurried off, shaking her head.

"I forgot you were a bloody awful liar," Ron muttered.

I glared at him. "Well, if you're so much better, you can do the lying from now on."

That shut him up.

"Snape's going through the trapdoor tonight," Harry stated once McGonagall had turned the corner.

"You can't be sure," Hermione countered.

"So, you're saying it's just a coincidence that Dumbledore has to leave right when Snape gets all the information he needs?" Harry said. Hermione didn't have a comeback this time. "I'll bet you a hundred Galleons that Snape sent that letter just to get Dumbledore out of the way."

"Good afternoon," said a monotonous voice from behind. We whirled around to see our worst nightmares come true: Snape was standing in front of us with a twisted grin frozen on his face. How much had he heard?

"You shouldn't be inside on a day like this," he continued.

None of us knew how to respond. I raised an eyebrow at Ron to remind him that he would be ridding the world of my awful lying from now on.

We made eye contact and he hesitantly opened his mouth to speak. "Oh, we were just, um, doing things…"

"You should be more careful," Snape warned. "People might think you're…" He paused for an eternity as he stared intently at each of us, thinking of all the ways he could take points from Gryffindor before finishing his sentence: "…up to something." He strutted off with his usual overdramatic cape flip.

"Oh, and _I'm_ the bad liar," I teased Ron once Snape was out of earshot. "At least I can come up with lies to tell."

Ron's face reddened. "Shut up—"

"Oh, don't worry, Professor Snape," I mocked in a ridiculously high voice. "We were just _doing things_."

"I do _not_ sound like that."

Harry led us back outside, far away from any teacher. "I have a plan," he said. "Two of us should wait outside the teachers' lounge to keep an eye on Snape—Hermione, Sadie, why don't you do that?"

"And what if we get caught?" I asked.

"Well, if anyone asks, just say you have questions about the exams," Ron mocked. "Remember how well that worked last time?"

"I swear to Merlin—"

"Anyways," Harry cut us off, "Ron and I will wait outside the third-floor corridor. Come on, we should go."

Hermione and I loitered by the staff room, worrying that Snape might have already left. After about five minutes, the door creaked open, and Snape appeared in the doorway, seeing us at once.

He raised an eyebrow. "Still inside?"

"Oh, we're waiting for Professor Flitwick," Hermione lied flawlessly. "We were confused about one of the exam questions." She could give me a lesson or two in deception.

"Professor Flitwick's in his office at the moment," Snape said. "Why don't you two stay here and I'll go fetch him for you?" That evil grin appeared on his face again. I didn't trust him.

"Thank you so much, Professor," Hermione said with fake sweetness. We exchanged confused looks as he walked away.

"Do you think Snape's nice enough to actually get Flitwick for us?" Hermione whispered.

"No," I answered, regaining my confidence. "Bet he's just using that as an excuse to get away. He could be on way his to Fluffy right now."

"What do we do, then?

"We follow him, like we said we would," I said.

"But what if he comes back?" Hermione worried.

"Fine, I'll follow him and you can stay here," I compromised. "If he comes back, just say I went to the bathroom or something."

I crept down the corridor and peeked around the corner. But Hermione and I had argued for too long: Snape had disappeared.

Unwilling to risk looking for him and getting caught, I went back to the safety of Hermione.

"Yeah, I have no idea where he is," I said.

Hermione looked around frantically. "We should go warn Harry and Ron."

Just then, we heard distant footsteps and a voice echoing through the hall that could only belong to Snape.

"They said they had questions about the exams, I'll show you where they are…" He was putting our lies to the test.

"Really? Both of them got over a hundred percent…" It was Flitwick.

Hermione seemed excited at this news, but I was more focused on the present problem. Unless Hermione had something brilliant up her sleeve, we didn't have a plan for talking to Flitwick. How could we be confused if we got all of the questions right?

"Do you have a question to ask him?" I whispered.

Hermione shook her head. "Do you?"

I also shook my head.

She shrugged. "We can just say we forgot."

"No, there's two of us, that wouldn't make sense!" I peeked around the corridor. They were coming closer. "Let's just get away before Snape figures out we were really after him."

I motioned for her to follow me and quietly led her in the opposite direction of the voices. We turned the corner, and an idea popped into my head.

This was the corridor Fred, George, and I found ourselves in when Snape and Quirrell were approaching. The corridor with the perfect hiding place.

I tiptoed over to where the hidden door was and whispered " _Ostium Revelio_ ," just like George had done before. To my relief, the door appeared, and I pulled it opened and dragged Hermione inside.

Hermione's jaw dropped as the door vanished. "How did you—"

I put my hand over her mouth.

We could only catch snippets of what Snape and Flitwick were saying. "Where did they… that's weird… talk to them later…"

Their footsteps began getting fainter, and it wasn't until they were completely gone that I revealed the door again and we left. We ran towards the third-floor corridor, looking every which way for any sign of Snape and Flitwick. Luckily, they were out of sight, but so were Harry and Ron. Confused, we went back to the common room, and found Harry and Ron collapsed on the couch.

"McGonagall caught us," Ron explained.

"Snape caught us," I replied. Neither of us needed to explain our problem further.

"Well, then, there's only one thing left to do," Harry declared. "I'm going to have to get to the Stone first."

"Are you mad?" Ron exclaimed.

"The Stone's supposed to be so well-protected that not even Voldemort can compete," I reminded him. "How do you think you're going to get to it at all?"

"With determination," Harry said.

Hermione sighed. "Gryffindor really can't afford to lose any more points, Harry," she said. "You could get expelled for sneaking out _again_."

"So what?" Harry retorted. "Don't you understand? If Voldemort gets the Stone, there won't be a Hogwarts to get expelled from! He'll blow it to bits or turn it into a school for the Dark Arts! Do you think he'll leave us alone—or alive—if he comes back? He killed my parents, remember? And he's going to do the same to me, and then all of you. So I'm going through that trapdoor no matter what you three say."

"And I don't want to imagine what he'll do to me," I blurted, remembering how Voldemort had asked me to join him in the forest. "What if he forces me to work for him, or makes me hurt you guys… or kill people… I don't want to have to kill anyone…"

"That took a dark turn," Ron mumbled.

"So, are we going through this trapdoor or not?" Hermione asked.

Harry furrowed his brow in confusion. "We?"

"You think we'd let you go alone?" Ron said.

I chuckled. "Yeah, you'd die within five minutes."

"But if you guys get caught, you'll be expelled too," Harry warned,

"Sadie and I won't," Hermione said. "Flitwick said we both got over a hundred on his exam. They can't kick us out after that."

"And Ron has a wonderful personality," I added.

"So, how exactly are we planning on getting out?" Ron asked.

"Oh, I forget to tell you, someone returned the cloak to me," Harry said to our delight. "It should cover all four of us—if we actually remember to _use_ it this time." I cringed at our past stupidity.

We spent hours in the common room flipping through various textbooks, hoping to find something that might prepare us for the protections against the Stone. Luckily, unlike the rest of us, Hermione didn't forget everything she knew once exams were over. But at the same time, we didn't think turning matches into needles would get us far.

Once we were sure everyone was asleep, we initiated our escape.

"Got the cloak?" Ron whispered to Harry, who checked his pockets and gave us a thumbs up. He was carrying Hagrid's flute, which we planned to use to play Fluffy to sleep.

"Good," Ron said. "I've got my pocket knife, too, in case we need it."

"Pocket knife?" I asked.

"It's another Weasley tradition," Ron explained. "Every first year gets to take this pocket knife with them for Hogwarts. It was my great-great-grandfather's. It's supposed to bring good luck or something."

"That's an… interesting tradition."

We began creeping toward the door when a squeaky voice stopped us. "Where are you guys going?"

Neville was behind us, frowning at us with his arms crossed. Harry hid the flute behind his back.

"When did you get here?" I asked.

"Three hours ago!" Neville whisper-shouted. Merlin, we really were idiots.

"You should go to bed, Neville," Harry coaxed.

Neville saw straight through us. "You're going out again, aren't you?"

We stayed silent.

"You can't," Neville continued, blocking the door. "You'll lose more points for Gryffindor!"

"Neville, this is important," Harry said.

"Didn't you hear what McGonagall said?" Neville responded. "Nothing's important enough to be out of bed past curfew!"

"But Neville—"

"I won't let you do it!" he said, putting his fists up. "I'll fight you!"

"Neville, please," Ron started. "Don't be an idiot—"

"I'm not an idiot!" Neville yelled. "Besides, you're the one who told me to stand up to people!"

"Yeah, to Malfoy, not us." Ron glanced at the clock on the wall. "Neville, you don't know what you're doing."

"Go on, fight me then," Neville challenged. "I'm ready!"

None of us knew quite what to do except Hermione. "I'm really sorry about this, Neville." She raised her wand. " _Petrificus Totalus!_ "

Neville's arms jerked to his side and his legs snapped together as he fell over, stiff as a board. He couldn't move a muscle except his eyes, which were frantically looking every which way.

I stared at Hermione in wonder. "What did you do?"

"Full Body-Bind." She turned to Neville again. "I'm so sorry, Neville, honestly."

We put the cloak on and rushed out of the common room, unwilling to waste another second.

Our hearts raced as we snuck through the corridors, flinching at even the smallest sounds. This time around, we made it past Mrs. Norris and Peeves undetected. The misfortune began when we reached Fluffy's room: the door had been left open a crack. Snape was already ahead of us.

"You guys can go back if you want," Harry offered. "Take the Cloak. I won't need it."

Ron laughed. "You can't be serious."

"Yeah, we're not ditching you now," I stated.

"We're coming, Harry," Hermione added. "And that's that."

Harry smiled and pocketed the cloak, leading us through the door. The three-headed dog greeted us with a growl, sniffing around with each of its three heads. Fortunately, we were hiding in a shadowed area of the room, or it would've seen us.

"What's that at its feet?" Hermione asked.

"A harp, I think," Ron said. "Snape must have left it here."

"Maybe it wakes up once you stop playing," I suggested.

"Well, then, here goes nothing," Harry said, raising the flute. He inspected it for a few seconds before lowering it again. "Do any of you know how to play the flute?"

"Oh my Merlin, give me that," I snapped, snatching the flute out of his hands. I lifted it to my lips and began to play the first song I could think of: an unnamed melody I had composed years ago. Playing the flute was one of the ways I kept myself occupied before I could read or write. I had no idea how I still knew how to play, let alone how I remembered this piece, but it worked. Fluffy eyes began to droop, and his three heads started to lower to the ground. After a few measures, his eyes fully closed, and he drifted into sleep.

The other three were staring at me, jaws dropped. I nodded towards the trapdoor as if to say "hurry up and go," and they did so. Still playing the flute, I followed them. Ron took one for the team and jumped through first, and Hermione closed her eyes and did the same. Harry fell into the trapdoor next. I handed him the flute at the last possible second, and one of the dog's six eyes shot open, its gaze fixed on me. Its razor-sharp fangs snapped at me as I screamed and jumped back in panic, causing me to stumble into the hole in the floor.

I sighed in relief as I landed on something soft and smooth, breaking the fall. It was dim, and I couldn't make out the faces of the others. Their voices assured me they were still there.

"What is this stuff?" Ron asked.

"Some sort of plant, I think," Harry guessed. "Probably to break the fall."

"Come on, we should start looking for the Stone," I said, trying to step out of the plant, but I found myself unable to. Vines curled around my ankles, locking me in place.

"Hey, can anyone else not move?" I questioned. "Because that's going to be a bit of a logistical problem."

"I don't think this is just a plant," Hermione worried, struggling to break free. Harry, Ron, and I did the same, but the vines only toughened their grip, binding our legs so tightly they went numb. My mind raced until I came up with a plan.

"Ron, your pocket knife!" I shouted.

"Oh, right!" Ron slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out the knife. He tried to slice through the vines, but he couldn't even make a dent. "It's not working," he said, his voice raised an octave.

"Wait—I know what this is!" Hermione announced, her face lighting up. "Devil's Snare! That's why the knife wouldn't work; there's only one way to kill it."

"Which is?" Harry urged.

"Well, um, I don't remember… Oh, what did Professor Sprout say?" Hermione said as the plant curled around my torso and chest, nearly suffocating me. "Oh right! It likes the dark and the damp—fire! That's how you kill it! But how are we going to light a fire in here—"

"ARE YOU MAD?" Ron yelled despite his shortage of breath. "ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?!"

"Oh, right! _Incendio!_ " Blue flames shot out of Hermione's wand, and the plant soon began to deteriorate. We all gasped for breath as the vines released us in a matter of seconds. Hermione had a knack for saving the day with fire.

The dark passageway in front of us was the only path to take. We shared reluctant looks before stepping into corridor.

"I didn't know you could play the flute," Harry whispered in awe.

"You'd be amazed at what I can accomplish when I'm bored," I said.

"Except your homework," Hermione mumbled.

"My work ethic isn't relevant right now."

"Speaking of relevance," Ron said, "what do you guys think is next?"

"Well, the Devil's Snare must have been Professor Sprout's," Hermione said. "So, we still have Quirrell, Snape, McGonagall, Flitwick, Dumbledore, and whoever Trelawney is. So, one down, six to go."

We finally reached a large, silver door. A light shone through the crack beneath it and a strange buzzing sound came from inside.

"What do you think is in there?" Harry asked.

"A lot of angry bees," I guessed, hesitantly pushing the door open a crack. We were greeted by a blinding light streaming through the door, forcing us to shield our eyes. Something shiny zipped past my face. I looked up and noticed we were surrounded by hundreds, maybe even thousands of glimmering keys with wings attached. They were darting past each other in a swarm so thick we could barely make out the wooden door on the other side of the room.

"Maybe we just have to get past them?" Harry guessed, running through the keys to the door. He pushed and pulled on the door, but it wouldn't budge.

"I think the keys are here for a reason, Harry," I sassed. I easily snatched one of the keys from the air and went to unlock the door, but it wasn't the right shape. The key was circular and the lock was rectangular.

"That's not going to work," I muttered. "I think we have to look for a specific key." I released the key and observed the shape of the lock. "A rectangular one." I noticed the four broomsticks over in the corner of the room. "Come on, let's look."

We each grabbed a broomstick and began searching. Every key I grabbed out of the air was the wrong shape: circles, triangles, squares, diamonds, stars, dodecahedrons… but not a single rectangle.

Suddenly, Harry shouted, "That one!"

He was pointing towards a key with a bent wing and a rectangular tip. He dived towards it, but it dodged his attempts to grab it.

"We've got to close in on it!" Ron said. "If Hermione takes the top, and Sadie and I take the sides, we can chase it downwards towards Harry."

We got into formation and on the count of three, flew straight at the key, causing it to fly downwards and into Harry's free hand. Upon landing, Harry shoved the squirming key into the lock, and with a click, the door opened.

The four of us walked through the door, anticipating what would come next. To our surprise, we found ourselves in a room lined with shelves of crystal balls. There was an empty pedestal on the far end of the room. The stillness and serenity was iunsettling; I expected something to attack us at any minute.

"What are we supposed to do?" Ron asked.

"Look, on the floor," Hermione pointed out. There were words written on the marble beneath us. Instructions. She read them:

"' _ALL OF THESE CRYSTAL BALLS ARE FAKE, EXCEPT ONE._

 _FIND THE REAL ONE AND PLACE IT ON THE PEDESTAL._

 _CHOOSE RIGHT, AND YOU WILL BE TAKEN TO THE NEXT CHALLENGE._

 _CHOOSE WRONG, AND YOU WILL BE TRANSPORTED TO WHERE YOUR IMMEDIATE DEATH WILL TAKE PLACE._

 _GOOD LUCK._ '"

"That's not terrifying at all," Ron grimaced.

"It can't be _that_ hard," I said, the uncertainty showing in my voice as I stared at the hundreds of crystal balls in the room. "There has to be something setting it apart, like the keys."

"Then we better start looking," Harry said, wandering over to the right side of the room..

"What teacher do you think made this?" Hermione asked. "Considering Flitwick probably made the last one."

"Trelawney, maybe?" I guessed by process of elimination. "It might be Divination."

"What's Divination?"

"Oh, a class about seeing the future," I said. "Fred and George were telling me about it."

"Seeing the future?" Hermione laughed. "That's impossible."

"Hey, before this year you thought all of magic was impossible."

"Still, it's just… it's just impossible, okay?"

I rolled my eyes and began my search.

It didn't take me long to figure out which crystal ball was the real one. I felt somehow drawn to the fifth shelf on the left, which was giving off a particularly clairvoyant vibe. I climbed a ladder leading up to the shelf and began examining each ball. They were all identical: shiny, clear orbs resting on a golden base. Each base was covered in the same design that I assumed were runes.

I was about halfway down the row when I picked up a ball that was different from the rest. On the outside it looked the same: a glowing orb with a golden, decorated base. But, unlike the others, dust-like ashes swirled around inside. And it just _felt_ real.

"Found it!" I yelled as I climbed down the rungs to show the others. They crowded around me with excitement, but quickly became disappointed.

"That looks the same as all the other ones," Hermione said, frowning.

"No, look inside," I urged. "Don't you see the dust?"

They all stared inside with furrowed brows before Ron spoke. "Sadie, you're hallucinating."

"I'm not hallucinating!" I replied, agitated that they didn't believe me. "It's real, I promise! I can _tell_."

"You can _tell_?"

"It just… feels right," I said. "Can I just put it on the pedestal now? We have to hurry, or we won't catch up to Snape."

"But if it's the wrong one, we'll die!" Harry warned.

"It didn't say we'd die, it said we'd be transported to where our death would take place," I said. "For all we know, that could be McGonagall's office. She wouldn't kill us."

They each raised an eyebrow at me.

"Okay, so she _would_ kill us," I admitted, "but only metaphorically."

"Fine, go ahead," Harry said through gritted teeth.

"If we die because of this," Ron started, "I'm going to murder you."

I didn't let the threat of death didn't shake my confidence. I was certain I had found the real crystal ball.

I took in a deep breath as I placed the ball on the pedestal.

Words in bold black lettering appeared on the wall before us:

CONGRATULATIONS!

YOU WILL BE TRANSPORTED TO THE NEXT CHALLENGE IN:

10

The number was counting down by the second.

"Told you so," I said, basking in my glory.

Ron sighed in relief. "Thank Merlin."

The room shifted around us. We were thrown back against the wall, and suddenly, a giant chess board materialized in front of our eyes. The board took up almost the entire room, and the pieces were four times our size. A large, silver door, lay across the room behind the white pieces. We were stuck behind the black ones.

"Do you think we can just walk around it?" I suggested, testing my own theory. I crept around the perimeter of the board, and was about to turn the corner when one of the pieces stuck out its spear to block me.

"Update," I said, "we can't walk around it."

"What do we do, then?" Hermione worried.

"Isn't it obvious?" Ron retorted. "We have to play our way across."

"How?"

"Maybe we have to take the place of four of the black pieces," he guessed, to which the King nodded, startling all of us. "Don't be offended, but none of you are that good at chess—"

"We're not offended," Harry said. "Just tell us what to do."

"Well, Harry, you take the place of that bishop, and Hermione and Sadie, you guys can take the castles," Ron directed. "As for me… I'll be a knight."

The four pieces Ron had named hopped off the chess board, allowing us to take their place. We stepped into the now empty squares, and the game began.

Ron directed us and the other black pieces around the board as best as he could, but the white pieces proved to be tough competition. The game was even more brutal than regular-sized wizarding chess was. The pieces nearly smashed each other to bits, and soon enough, there was a large pile of injured black pieces huddled in the corner. I trembled, picturing what would happen if one of us were to be lost to the white pieces.

Eventually, Ron found himself in a very tough position.

"We're nearly there…" Ron wondered aloud. "It's the only way…"

"What's the only way?" I asked.

"I have to be taken."

"NO!" we shouted, all three of us staring at him in disbelief.

"I have to!" Ron repeated. "It leaves Harry free to checkmate the king. That's chess, you make sacrifices!"

"But the queen will smash you to bits!" I warned.

"Do you want to stop Snape or not?"

"But—"

"I have to," Ron said once more. "Take the pocket knife before you go, okay? You might need it. And don't hang around once you've won."

We looked away as he took a step forward. There was a crash and a thump, and I opened my eyes to see Ron lying on the floor unconscious. Shaking, Harry moved three spaces to the left.

The white king threw off its crown and left the board, its fellow pieces following. We ran over to Ron to make sure he was still breathing, and all sighed in relief when we discovered he was. Harry grabbed the knife from the pocket of his robes, and with one last look at Ron, we ran through the next door.

A putrid odor welcomed us, making us gag. A large troll lay unconscious on the ground, even larger than the one we encountered in the bathroom months ago. We cautiously stepped over it, holding our breath, and made it to the door on the other side of the room. Hermione and I nodded to Harry to show that we were more than ready to leave.

"Glad we didn't have to fight that one," Harry muttered as he pushed the door open.

The minute we stepped into the room, purple flames shot up behind us and black flames in front, blocking both doors. I examined the small room for any hidden exits, but to no avail. We were trapped.

In front of us was a table with seven potions sitting in a line, all varying in color and size.

"Look!" Hermione grabbed a scroll lying on a shelf on the wall. Harry took it from her and read it aloud:

 _Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,_

 _Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,_

 _One among us seven will let you move ahead,_

 _Another will transport the drinker back instead,_

 _Two among our number hold only nettle wine,_

 _Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line._

 _Choose, unless you wish to stay here for evermore,_

 _To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:_

 _First, however slyly the poison tries to hide_

 _You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;_

 _Second, different are those who stand at either end,_

 _But if you would move onwards, neither is your friend;_

 _Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,_

 _Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;_

 _Fourth, the second left and the second on the right_

 _Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight._

Harry and I exchanged looks. Neither of us understood a word of that.

"Hermione," I began, "how are we going to get out of here?"

"Using this," she answered. "It's a logic puzzle! Most of the greatest wizards haven't got an ounce of logic, they'd be stuck here forever!"

"I must be one of the greatest wizards, then," I mumbled.

"Everything's here, on the paper," she continued. "Three of these are death potions, two are wine, one will get us through the black flames, and one will get us through the purple. Now give me a minute…"

Harry and I waited nervously as Hermione read the scroll over and over, calculating which bottle was which.

"Got it," she said after thinking for mere minutes. "The smallest one should get you through the black flames."

Harry picked up the bottle. "There's barely enough in here for two sips, though."

"Then only two of us can go," I said, disappointed that we'd already lost half the group.

"Hermione, which bottle gets you through the purple flames?"

She pointed to a round bottle on the right end.

"That one's full," Harry pointed out. "Why don't you both drink that one and go back? I'll go fight Snape. I don't want either of you getting hurt."

"You think we're letting you risk your life alone, Harry?" I said.

"Besides, what if You-Know-Who's with him?" Hermione worried. "You can't face him by yourself."

"I got lucky once," Harry said, pointing to his scar, "I could get lucky again."

"I wouldn't take that chance," I argued. "One of us is going with you. And I think it should be Hermione." Okay, I know it looks like I'm throwing her under the bus here, but I'm not. I genuinely thought she would be more useful in the situation than I would. She knows far more spells than me and was much more adept at using them.

"Why me?" Hermione inquired.

"You're a really talented witch, Hermione," I answered honestly. "Really talented. You know more about the wizarding world than I do and I've lived in it for eleven years! And I'm sure you've got way more spells under your belt than I do. You're the best person for this. Just set him on fire again."

"Me?" Hermione laughed. "Sure, I've got books and cleverness. But you have quick-thinking, and instinct, and intuition."

"But you're—"

"Do you want me to start citing evidence?" Hermione continued. "Sure, I set Snape on fire to stop him from cursing Harry. But who used _Wingardium Leviosa_ so his broom would catch him? You. See, you've already saved his life once. You can do it again."

"But I never would've been able to do that if you hadn't distracted Snape," I argued. "If it weren't for your smarts—"

"Not so fast, I have more examples," Hermione countered. "Remember when we were trying to hide from Snape and Flitwick and you got us into that hidden room? I still don't know how you did that, but the point is, that was pure instinct. I never would've been able to think of that, even if I did know about the room."

I was beginning to think I should be the one to go after all. "Well, you do make a pretty convincing—and flattering—argument," I admitted. "Fine, I'll go. But just know you would've been an equally good candidate, okay?" I didn't want her to feel useless.

"About time," Harry said, who had been growing impatient with our debate. "Hermione, you take the purple flames potion and take Ron up to the hospital wing. Use the broomsticks in the flying keys room. Then send Hedwig to Dumbledore, we'll need him. We have no idea what Snape's got up his sleeve—especially if Voldemort's with him."

Hermione stared blankly at us, and I could almost see tears glistening in her eyes. Before I knew it, she had thrown her arms around Harry and me. "You guys are great wizards, you know."

"Not as good as you," Harry said as she let go of us.

"There are more important things than logic," Hermione said. "Like friendship and bravery and—oh, just be careful!"

"We will," I promised. "You're sure which one is which, right?"

"Positive."

"We better drink then," I said. "We don't have much time."

Hermione drank the potion on the far right and gave us a hopeful smile before stepping through the purple flames. Then, Harry took a small sip from the other potion and passed it to me. I drank the rest, my hand shaking, and placed the bottle back in the line.

Harry and I nodded at each other and stepped through the black flames, ready to face whatever waited on the other side.


	15. I Definitely Get My Looks from My Mother

**XIV. I Definitely Get My Looks from My Mother**

Harry and I were greeted by a dark, gloomy corridor; the light from the flames barely stretched beyond our feet. We stayed silent as we wandered down it with caution, our footsteps echoing off of the marble floor. Eventually, we reached a turn where the light reappeared, blinding us. We hesitated, afraid to see what lay beyond the corner.

"You stay here," Harry whispered to me. "Only come out if I need help, okay?"

"What?" I whispered back. "Just because I'm a girl—"

"God, now is not the time to topple the patriarchy," he sighed. "It's like a second in a wizard's duel. You're there to take my place if I die."

"I didn't come all this way for you to go get yourself killed—"

"Don't worry about me." Harry put his hands on my shoulders. "And don't do anything stupid. I don't want you getting hurt." He turned away and disappeared down the corridor.

It took everything I had to restrain myself from going with Harry. I hated standing by while someone else does all the work. Besides, I wanted to stop Voldemort as much as he did—perhaps even more. But I figured I was much more help if I was alive, and I had the element of surprise on my side.

I hid behind the wall, wand at the ready. Harry's footsteps were close, but they suddenly disappeared. I peeked around the corner just enough to see him stopped dead in his tracks.

"You!" Harry shouted. "Wait—you?" His accusatory voice turned to confusion.

"Me," an unfamiliar voice said. It certainly didn't sound like Snape, but it wasn't the voice that had spoken to me in the forest, either. "I was wondering if we'd be meeting here tonight, Potter. And I see you brought a friend." I froze, shrinking against the wall.

"I didn't—"

The voice cut him off with a laugh. "Now, we both know that's not true," it said. "Why don't we have her join us?"

Well, there goes that plan.

Next thing I knew, an invisible force flung me out into the open. My wand flew out of my hand, and I ended up face-down on the cold, hard tile. I stretched my hand out, reaching for my wand, but something pulled it away from me.

"You won't be needing that today, dear," the voice said with a cackle. "You two are very loud whisperers."

The laugh alone filled me with rage to make me jump to my feet. What use was I to Harry without a wand? "Give it back, you—Wait, you?"

I couldn't believe my eyes. Quirrell was standing in front of us, a smirk on his face and my wand in his hand. And he hadn't stuttered once.

Marble steps led down to where he stood, and a magnificent mirror with an embellished frame towered behind him. The Mirror of Erised.

"Yes, me," Quirrell said flatly, putting my wand in the pocket of his robes. "We've established this."

I took a step backwards. "But… Snape…"

"Ah, yes, Severus can be intimidating," Quirrell chuckled, advancing towards Harry and me. "Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering, P-Professor Quirrell?"

I refused to believe it. What could Quirrell possibly want with the Stone?

"Now, Silverwood, why don't you sit back and enjoy the show?" With a swish and flick of Quirrell's wand, I was thrown against the wall behind me. Ropes curled around my body and binded me to the wall. I struggled to free myself, but they wouldn't budge.

"Let me go, you sick, twisted—"

"Silencio." Quirrell, pointed his wand at me, and I felt my throat tighten. I couldn't speak.

"Professor, what are you doing?" Harry asked in disbelief. "Let her go, this isn't you—"

Quirrell smiled. "Good, that's what I wanted you to think."

"But if it's been you all along," Harry paused, processing the events playing out before his eyes, "why did Snape try to kill me at that Quidditch game?"

"Snape didn't try to kill you." He chuckled. "I tried to kill you."

Harry and I stared at him in disbelief.

"And I would've gotten away with it, too, if it weren't for Granger," Quirrell sneered. "Flitwick was spraying water all over Snape to douse that cursed fire, and got some on me, too. So, I was forced to break my eye contact with you. But I could've done it earlier, if Snape wasn't muttering the countercurse to my jinx."

Harry stared at him in confusion. "Snape was trying to save me? Snape?"

"Yes," Quirrell said plainly. "Why else do you think he wanted to referee your next match? To keep me from trying again. He did make himself quite unpopular with the teachers, that's true. And what a waste it was, when I'm going to kill you tonight." He snapped his fingers and ropes emerged from the floor, binding Harry's ankles to the ground. More ropes appeared to secure his arms to his side.

I would've stabbed Quirrell right then and there if I could. Harry couldn't die. Not on my watch.

I struggled some more with the ropes, but it was no use. "Don't worry, dear," Quirrell said, his voice dripping with honey. "He doesn't have to be the only one to go tonight."

Merlin, he was going to kill me, too. And there was nothing I could do about it. I lay back against the wall, helpless.

"Don't you dare touch her," Harry shouted, pulling against his own ropes.

"We'll see about that," Quirrell mused. "But you, Potter, you're too nosy to live. You could've caught me looking at the defenses against the Stone, scurrying around on Halloween like that."

"You let the troll in?"

"Of course. I have a gift with trolls—you must have seen what I did to the one in the chamber. Unfortunately, Snape suspected me and went straight to the third floor to stop me. So not only did that troll fail to beat you to death, that dog didn't bite off Snape's leg properly. Now, be quiet, Potter, and let me examine this mirror."

Quirrell turned towards the Mirror of Erised, staring hungrily into it. That meant he was distracted. I tried to think of an escape plan, but I couldn't do anything if I was bound to the wall. If only I had something I could use to cut the ropes…

The pocket knife! How could I be so stupid? Harry could cut himself free, then me! I just needed some way to tell him my plan, which would be hard without a voice.

"I saw you and Snape in the forest," Harry said, his eyes focused on Quirrell. I tried to mouthing his name, hoping my voice might magically return. I had to get that knife.

"Oh, Severus was on to me by then," Quirrell said without paying Harry the slightest attention. "He was trying to frighten me into letting slip how far I'd gotten, but how could he, when I had Lord Voldemort on my side…"

Was that what Snape tried to do to me, that day in his office? Did he think I was working with Quirrell to get the Stone for Voldemort? Was he trying to scare me away from it? "We both know what sides we're on," he'd said, but apparently, neither of us knew at all.

But he still deserves to get bitten by a venomous snake.

Quirrell was preoccupied with the mirror, giving Harry the perfect opportunity to turn around and look at me. I tried kicking the wall to make some noise, but to no avail.

"But you were sobbing in that empty classroom," Harry said. "I thought Snape was threatening you." He was doing a fantastic job of stalling Quirrell. If only he could be that fantastic at helping me.

Harry's statement grabbed Quirrell's attention. A fearful expression fell on his face, like he was having a flashback to something unbearable.

"Sometimes, I find it hard to follow my master's instructions," he trembled. "He is powerful and I am weak…"

Did that mean Voldemort was there with him? In Hogwarts, the safest place on Earth?

For once, Harry and I were thinking alike. "You mean he was there in the classroom?" he asked.

"My master is with me wherever I go," Quirrell explained. "Once I failed to retrieve the Stone from Gringotts, he decided he'd have to keep a closer watch on me…"

Does he mean Voldemort's been here at Hogwarts this whole time? I shuddered at the thought.

Quirrell became distracted with the mirror again, so I decided to try and free myself while I had the chance. I slid my right hand up the restraints binding my arms to my side, causing the skin on my arm to peel and bleed. I found a weak point and stuck my hand out between the ropes and fought with them, trying to ignore the painful blisters on my arm. But no matter how hard I pulled, the restraints wouldn't give.

Suddenly, a high-pitched, chilling voice filled the room. "The boy… Use the boy…" This time, it was the voice that had spoken to me in the Forbidden Forest.

"Of course," Quirrell said. With another snap of his fingers, the ropes around Harry fell to the ground. "Potter, come here." His voice was commanding and merciless—how was this man once our shy, stuttering professor?

Harry obeyed and walked towards the mirror.

"Look into the mirror and tell me what you see," Quirrell ordered.

"I'm shaking hands with Dumbledore," Harry said, his voice barely audible across the room. "I've won the house cup."

He's lying, I thought. He sees his family.

Quirrell muttered something and pushed Harry out of the way.

Finally, Harry turned around and began walking away from Quirrell, trying to make an escape. I caught his eye and mouthed, "the knife," motioning with my free hand for him to throw it to me.

He replied with a baffled look.

"The pocket knife," I silently repeated, making a slashing motion in the air. He nodded in understanding and reached into the pocket of his robes, but was interrupted by the shrill voice.

"He lies…"

"Potter!" Quirrell snapped, turning around. "Get back here, tell me what you see!" Harry sent me an apologetic glance.

The voice spoke again. "Let me speak to him…" A shiver ran down my spine.

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough for this…"

Strangely, Quirrell began unwrapping his turban. The layers of cloth slowly revealed a more horrifying sight than I could've ever imagined.

A face was attached to the back of Quirrell's head. Not just any face, no—a distorted, chalk-white face with red, snake-like eyes and slits for nostrils. A face that you would only see in nightmares, too horrifying to describe. Voldemort.

I have to say, I don't see the resemblance.

"Harry Potter…" Voldemort mused. "Ah, and I see my daughter came to join us as well."

I glared at him, trying to hide my fear. There was no way I was related to this thing.

"See what I have become, Potter?" Voldemort continued. "I have form only when I share another's body… of course, Quirrell has been so faithful to let me into his soul… Unicorn blood has strengthened me these past few weeks… but now that I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to restore my body…"

"Wait," Harry interrupted. "So when Fred and George were hitting the back of Quirrell's head with snowballs, they were really hitting you?"

"Yes, that was very annoying. Now, why don't you hand me that Stone in your pocket, Potter?"

It was then I noticed the jagged lump in Harry's pocket—how did he get his hands on it?

Harry stumbled backwards, making Voldemort snarl.

"Don't be a fool," he said. "Better to save yourself and join me than meet the same end as your parents…"

"NEVER!" Harry shouted. He began running towards me—about time—but Quirrell caught him by the wrist. Suddenly, they were both screaming from pain, and Quirrell ended up on the floor, curled into a fetal position. His hands were covered in blisters and burns—all from Harry's touch.

Harry noticed that neither Voldemort nor Quirrell could see him, and he pulled the pocket knife from his robes and threw it into my freed hand. Somehow, despite my athletic inability, I caught it and began to slash through the ropes. My hand trembled as Harry and Quirrell continued to fight each other with Voldemort shouting, making me slip and cut a gash in my side. I winced in pain as the wound bled through my shirt, but continued on. Once the ropes around my legs and ankles were severed, I was free. It was hard to regain my balance, but once the blood flow returned to my legs, I was ready to run to Harry's rescue.

Quirrell seized Harry by the throat and pushed him to the ground. The former was still shrieking in agony, while his victim let out choked cries. I ran towards them, holding my side to stop the bleeding, and followed my instincts Hermione spoke of so fondly: I kicked Quirrell in the stomach, forcing him to release Harry and stumble backwards.

But I was too late. Harry had already collapsed on the steps.

Quirrell prepared to lunge at me, but he was stopped.

"No, kill the boy, Quirrell…" Voldemort ordered. "I'll deal with her later… kill the boy…"

Quirrell turned his gaze back to Harry and pulled his wand from his robes. I had to think of something, fast. Then, it hit me: If Harry's touch alone could burn Quirrell's skin, what could his blood do?

I cut Harry's hand open with the pocket knife. Before Quirrell could cast a deadly curse, I raised the knife, which was dripping with Harry's blood, and threw it at Quirrell's chest. I felt my throat loosen up as his hand turned to dust and crumbled to the ground. Voldemort let out a high-pitched scream as he was ripped from Quirrell's body, which soon became nothing more than a pile of ashes.

"You okay, Harry?" I said with my newfound voice, nudging him with my foot. I bent down next to him and checked his wrist for a pulse, letting out a sigh of relief once I discovered he was alive. My attention turned back to the heap of dust on the ground, and the shock settled in: I had killed someone.

I was becoming my father.

"Committed our first murder, have we?" a cold voice said with a chuckle. "Don't worry, you'll learn with time."

I looked up to see Voldemort standing in front of me. This time, he had a full body, but was reduced to a three-dimensional silhouette. A white glow surrounded him, outlining his grotesque facial features. The figure appeared to be a cross between a body and a ghost.

I stood up, still holding my hand to my cut. "I'm not a killer."

"Oh, but you will be," Voldemort said, a smirk forming on his lips. "Once you join me, of course."

"Yeah, I think I'll pass," I said. "I have my whole life ahead of me and I'd rather not spend it with the likes of you."

He laughed. "You think I'll let you live if you don't? How adorable."

"Oh, no," I mocked, "the guy who was defeated by a mediocre one-year-old is going to try and fail to kill me again."

"Yes, I was too weak to finish you off before," Voldemort said, "but next time, I won't be letting you off so easy…"

I scoffed. "Easy? That's the most pain I've ever been in, and the wretched godparents you gave me Cruciate me whenever they feel like it." The Cruciatus Curse, or the Torture Curse, was one of Lucius's favorite spells.

"Well, it's not my fault you're so hateable."

"I wonder where I get it from," I muttered. "And speaking of hatred, did Quirrell ever mention to you why he despised me so much?"

"Well, you got into Gryffindor, which was the exact opposite of what you were supposed to do, so I told him to make you as miserable as possible."

"Oh, I'm sorry I'm brave," I retorted. "What would Your Majesty prefer that I do?"

"You could start by shutting up."

"Sorry, that's not an option."

"Well, then, let me ask you a question," Voldemort said, raising one of his thin eyebrows. "Why did you change your name?"

"Because Sadina makes me sound like an eighty-year old woman from the nineteenth century who spends her spare time knitting sweaters for her thirty-six cats," I replied plainly.

"So you legally shortened it by a syllable?"

"Yeah," I replied. "That's how stupid it is. Besides, I'll do anything to disassociate myself from you, especially changing an awful name you gave me."

"You can't escape your heritage, Sadie," Voldemort laughed. "You should cherish it, in fact. I strived to be like my ancestors when I was your age; why don't you do the same?"

"I will never be like you."

I expected this to provoke him, but he kept his cool and smiled. "I see you've inherited my stubbornness." He began advancing towards me, almost floating across the tile. I wanted to back away, but I forced myself to stand my ground.

Don't be scared, I told myself. He's not human. He can't touch you.

"You have my wit, too," he continued. "And we both consider Hogwarts the closest thing to a home. And apparently, we've both had awful childhoods."

"At least I didn't inherit your looks."

A glare appeared on his face as he lifted my chin, and scarily enough, his hand didn't pass through me. "Ah yes, you're the spitting image of your mother…" He smirked. "But in reality, you're just like me."

"Go fuck yourself." I flipped him off, looking him dead in the eye.

Voldemort gasped loudly enough to wake up the whole castle. "Nobody tells the Dark Lord to go fuck himself!"

"Oh, what are you going to do, ground me?" I jeered with a fake frown. "Send me to bed without dinner?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of murder." My eyes widened as he floated over to Quirrell's remains, picking up the pocket knife that lay upon the ashes. His emotionless smile never faded as he walked towards me at an agonizingly slow pace, twirling the pocket knife in his hands and taunting me with every step. I tried to run, but ropes rose up from floor, binding my ankles to the ground. My feet struggled to pull free, but it was useless. I was going to die.

Why couldn't I keep mouth shut?

He finally came close enough that the knife was touching my chest. "Any last words?"

I glared at him, my breathing heavy. "Chinga tu madre." Might as well go out with a bang.

Voldemort simply laughed and pulled the knife back. I closed my eyes, waiting for the cold metal to penetrate my skin, but someone spoke before it had the chance.

"Stay away from my students, Voldemort."


	16. I Owe My Life to a Professor

**XV. I Never Thought I Would Owe My Life to a Professor, yet Here We Are**

It was Dumbledore.

Voldemort's eyes widened, and the knife fell to the floor with a satisfying clank. I smiled in relief as he flew off and vanished into the air. After all, Dumbledore was the only person he was ever afraid of.

"Are you alright, Sadie?" Dumbledore asked as he rushed over to me. The use of my first name took me by surprise, but I had too many thoughts going to my head to care.

"Yeah, thanks," I said breathlessly. I stumbled backwards as the ropes around my feet came undone. "What was that? His ghost?"

"No, his soul," Dumbledore explained. "Now that he has no body to inhabit, he has to walk the world reduced to a husk of what he used to be. But, he'll spend every moment waiting to rise to power. I fear that we haven't seen the last of him."

I cringed at the thought that he was still out there, free to come back for me anytime he wished, and that he might return and kill hundreds of others after he's finished with me.

Dumbledore smiled reassuring smile. "Don't worry, his strength is wearing off as we speak." I saw him take something from the pile of ashes that was once Quirrell. "I believe this belongs to you," he said, handing me my wand.

I took it from his hand. "Thanks."

"And this?" He picked up the knife in confusion. "We didn't put 'lethal weapon' on the supply list."

"Wands are lethal weapons," I countered.

Dumbledore reluctantly handed me the knife. "Touché." His face quickly changed to concern as we both sat down on the steps. "What happened to your side?"

"I cut myself."

He raised his wand to the wound. " _Vulnera Sanentur._ " The wound began to heal and the hole in my shirt started stitching itself back together.

"Thanks again," I mumbled.

"Anytime," he said. "And your arms?"

"Ropeburn."

"You can go to the hospital wing for that," he said. "Miss Granger and Mister Weasley are already there."

We sat in silence for a few seconds before Dumbledore finally spoke again. "I didn't know the Malfoys Cruciated you."

I stared at him, baffled. "How long have you been there?"

"Since you stabbed Quirrell," he said. "Which was pretty awesome, by the way."

"And you just waited until Voldemort attempted to kill me to do anything?"

"You were handling it well on your own," Dumbledore said simply. "It was entertaining. In all seriousness, though, if you need to stay at Hogwarts for the summer…"

"It's fine," I murmured, staring at my feet. I didn't want to cause him any trouble, especially since I didn't want him—or any of the professors—to know about my situation in the first place. Besides, how would the Malfoys like it if I stayed at Hogwarts without their permission? What would they do to me if I ever faced them again?

"Are you sure?" Dumbledore asked, bringing me back into the present. "People have done it before."

"It's fine, really."

"If you change your mind, let me know," he said with a sigh. "Now, Sadie, did you really just curse out Voldemort in _two_ languages? Are you mad?!"

"It's not like he knows what _chinga tu madre_ means."

"I think you just took seventy years off your lifespan. And the rest of the population's." A humorous glint appeared in his eyes. "Besides, I could theoretically give you detention for that."

"I literally just almost died, Professor," I joked. "Cut me some slack."

He shook his head with a smile.

"Where'd you learn Spanish, anyway?" I asked.

"I know seventeen languages; I lose track of where I learned them all," he said nonchalantly. Impressive. "But I know I learned how to curse from your mother. She swore like a sailor. I think she'd be proud of you." I didn't quite know what to make of that. "By the way, did you ever have any luck with that hypothetical mirror?"

I stood up and stepped towards the Mirror of Erised. Between the Stone, exams, and almost being killed by Voldemort twice, I had had no time to ponder the meaning of my reflection.

"I guess not," I replied.

"Do you still see the same thing?" Dumbledore asked.

I stared into the spotless glass, and found my reflection standing before me, unchanged except for the brown eyes. "Hypothetically, yes."

"Well, you would say your eyes are your most defining feature, correct?"

"I'd like to think it's my charming personality."

Dumbledore paused. "We better stick with eyes," he decided. "The mirror shows your eyes as brown, a common color. It doesn't stand out like purple does. With brown eyes, you'd hardly be recognizable unless you were to introduce yourself. You'd be treated as if you were any normal person. Is that something you truly desire?" He chuckled. "Hypothetically, of course."

I paused to take all of this in. I couldn't believe I didn't see the deeper meaning before. How did Dumbledore know more about myself than I did?

"Merlin, I'm depressed," I muttered.

"I agree. Are you seeing a therapist?"

"No."

"I recommend you get one. For multiple reasons. Now help me carry Harry, would you?" Again with the first names.

"Sure," I said, walking over to Harry's limp body. As I helped Dumbledore pick him up, I became curious. "What do you see in the mirror, Professor?"

"I see myself with a brand new pair of woolen socks," Dumbledore explained, but I didn't think he was being quite honest. "You know, the fun kind, like the knee-high ones with dogs on them." I stared at him blankly, and he only added to my confusion when he pulled out his wand.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Apparating."

"I thought you couldn't Apparate in Hogwarts," I pointed out.

"I'm headmaster," he said plainly. "I can do what I want."

"Aren't there stairs somewhere?" I coaxed, trying to avoid the sickening experience of Apparation at all costs.

"Unless you want to scale the wall and break through the ceiling, no," he said. "Grab on."

I sighed and gripped Dumbledore's arm, trying to hold up Harry with one hand, and braced myself to be transported through the fabric of space and time just to get to the Hospital Wing. I closed my eyes and felt myself being ripped from the ground, spinning and spinning, until I finally felt smooth tile beneath my feet once more. My head pounded as I opened my eyes. I let go of Dumbledore's arm and helped him place Harry on one of the hospital beds.

"Sadie!"

I turned around to see Ron and Hermione rushing over to hug me. McGonagall stood next to the beds, a wave of relief washing over her face.

"Oh good, you're back," McGonagall said. "What happened to Potter?"

"He fainted," I explained.

Hermione finally let go of our embrace. "You have to tell us everything."

"Every. Last. Detail," Ron clarified.

"Okay, okay," I said, laughing. "Basically, I single-handedly defeated Quirrell and stopped the uprising of Vol—You-Know-Who. Oh, and Harry was there, too."

"Quirrell?!" Ron and Hermione said in confusion.

"Plot twist, right?" I laughed and launched into an elaborate explanation of how Quirrell had been after the Stone all along, and Ron, Hermione, McGonagall, and Dumbledore listened intently. It wasn't until I reached the part where I killed him that I had to stop.

"Keep going, Sadie," Ron urged.

"Yeah, what happened?" Hermione said, excited.

"I… stabbed Quirrell," I said hesitantly. "And he crumbled into a million pieces." I wasn't proud of murdering someone. That was what Voldemort did. Not me. Right?

"That's awesome!" Hermione praised. "What's wrong?"

"I don't want to kill people…" I mumbled, sitting down on one of the beds. "Then I'll end up like…" I shook my head to rid myself of thought. "Nevermind."

"Oh, you can't possibly think…" Dumbledore sat down on the bed next to me. "You did that for the greater good. You stopped Voldemort, how could you end up like him?" Ron and Hermione cringed at the name.

"But I… he said…"

"You can't let him get inside your head like that, Sadie," Dumbledore lectured. "I knew your father, and trust me, you don't take after him much."

"You knew him?" I inquired.

"Of course, he attended Hogwarts while I was the Transfiguration professor," he said. "Sadie, when Voldemort came here, he tricked all the teachers and the old headmaster into thinking he was an angel. He won everyone over. But you… you're genuine. You're reckless and flamboyant and extremely annoying, and you're proud of it. And Voldemort was cunning and manipulative, but you can't lie for shi—"

"ALBUS!" McGonagall scolded.

"She's cursed me out in Spanish before, so I think it's only fair that I get to curse her out in English."

"You did what?!" McGonagall seethed, turning to me.

"I called him a son of a—"

" _Don't_ finish that sentence, Silverwood." She muttered something about how I've got some nerve.

"But what if there is something…" I worried. "Something that makes me not so different."

"Well, have you stolen anything before?" Dumbledore asked.

 _How did he know?_

"That's an oddly specific question," I said, trying to sound as unsuspicious as possible.

"Yes, an oddly specific question that you're avoiding."

"Um, Professor," I began, turning to McGonagall, "did you ever notice one of your spare quills was gone?"

"No, I don't keep count," she said, confused.

I glanced at my feet. "Let's keep it that way."

A glare appeared on her face. "Wait, Silverwood, what did you do?"

"Nothing…" I forced an innocent smile.

" _Silverwood_."

"Okay, fine, fine, I took it…" I put my hands up in defense. "Look, I'm sorry, I was just upset and—well, it's a coping mechanism, okay?"

"There are million better coping mechanisms," Ron chided.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"You might have kleptomania," Hermione suggested.

"Klepto—what?"

"Kleptomania," she repeated. "It's a mental illness that makes you addicted to stealing, and usually people who have it steal to deal with anger and stress. And most of the time, it's items of little value. Like a spare quill."

I contemplated the possibility. Everything seemed to be falling into place. There had always been some nagging voice in the back of my head telling me that I was a terrible person for using my anger as an excuse to steal, and I always believed it. But the fact that it wasn't completely my fault, and that there were other people like me, reassured me that I wasn't beyond the point of fixing.

"That would explain a lot," I finally mumbled.

"Did you steal anything else this year?" Dumbledore asked.

"Just one other thing," I admitted, remembering the teacup I took from Hagrid. "I don't get upset that much here."

"Good to hear," he said with a smile. "Just return whatever you took, and you won't have an ounce of Voldemort in you."

"Now that we're done catching up," McGonagall interjected, "would the three of you like to explain how you got through our defenses meant to hold off You-Know-Who himself?"

"It didn't hold him off very well," I said under my breath.

"Oh, I'd like to see you do better, Silverwood."

And with that, we told Dumbledore and McGonagall all about the night's adventures.

"Well," McGonagall began after our tale was over, "I'll have to admit, you four do make a good team."

I might have gotten a bit too much into storytelling, because soon enough, the whole school knew about what happened with the Sorcerer's Stone. Fortunately, I had left out my conversation with Voldemort. I didn't need that to spiral into some rumor about me vowing to join him.

Harry didn't wake for another three days. Ron, Hermione, and I wrote him "get well soon" and "we miss you" letters, and Fred and George brought him back a haul from Honeydukes. They also tried to send him a toilet seat, but Madam Pomfrey confiscated it.

We hoped that Harry might have at least woken for the Quidditch game against Ravenclaw, but no luck. Without him, Gryffindor was bumped from second place to third, and Slytherin kept its winning streak for the eighth year in a row.

When Dumbledore told us that Harry had finally woken up, we ran straight to the hospital wing, neglecting to ask Madam Pomfrey for permission to enter.

"Harry!" we all shouted, suffocating him with a hug.

"Oh Harry, we were so worried…" Hermione said, exasperated.

"We thought you were…" I began. "Nevermind."

"Sadie told us what happened," Ron said. "In the dungeon, I mean."

"Well, wait till you hear this…"

Harry then explained that he was able to retrieved the Stone from the mirror because although it was his deepest desire, unlike Quirrell, he didn't want to use it. To avoid another catastrophic attempt to steal the Stone, Dumbledore had destroyed it. This meant Nicolas Flamel and his wife would die. We were appalled at this news, but Harry said the Flamels were sick of being alive anyway, at least according to Dumbledore.

He told us how his mother's love protected him from Voldemort, which is why his touch agonized Quirrell. The thought of how much I would give for my godmother to love me ran through my head, but I forced it out. This wasn't about me.

Harry also explained that Dumbledore had gotten the Cloak from Harry's father, and then passed it on to him. Apparently, his father was rivals with Snape at Hogwarts, and since he saved Snape's life once, Snape decided that by protecting Harry he would be repaying his life debt to his father. Then, he could get back to hating the Potters in peace.

"So what happened with you guys?" Harry asked once he was finished with his storytelling.

I told them about my conversation with Voldemort and how Dumbledore saved me from my second near-death experience of the year, trusting them not to spread the story.

"You cursed him out _twice_?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Are you mad?!" Ron shouted.

"Slightly, yes," I said. "Dumbledore said I needed a therapist."

Ron shook his head. "Both of you are off your rockers."

"Oh, and Sadie, do you know what happened to my hand?" He showed me his bandaged palm, and I remembered how I had cut through it so impulsively.

I shrugged. "No idea."

He shot me a suspicious glance, but quickly changed the subject. "What about you, Hermione?"

"Well, I woke Ron up," Hermione began. "We went to the owlery to write to Dumbledore, but met him in the entrance hall. He just said 'They've gone after him," and dashed off to the third floor."

"Told you he was off his rocker," Ron muttered. "The end-of-the-year feast is tomorrow. You better be well by then. Slytherin won—you missed the last Quidditch game, Ravenclaw pulverized us without you—but the food should be good."

I hoped Ron was right about the food, because the decorations certainly weren't to my liking. Green and black banners hung from the ceiling of the Great Hall, and the Slytherin crest adorned the walls. The Slytherin table was bursting with gleeful chatter, and Snape sat at the High Table with a stern look of approval on his face while the other three Heads of House glared at him. Even the Bloody Baron came to the Gryffindor table to gloat to Nearly-Headless Nick about his winning streak. Draco was smirking amongst the celebrations, looking all happy and everything. I hated it.

Harry entered the hall, turning plenty of heads from everyone but the Slytherins. He hadn't been seen for four days, and after our story got out, he was even more of a celebrity than before. But everyone took their focus away from Harry when Dumbledore arose to the podium.

"Another year gone!" he wheezed with a hearty laugh. "And what a year it has been! But I'm afraid you'll have to listen to a few words from your old headmaster before you're able to enjoy your feast and your summer.

"Now, the House Cup needs awarding, does it not?"

Cheers erupted from the Slytherin table.

"Well, before we get to it," he continued, "I believe there are some last-minute points to be given out."

The celebration from the Slytherins died down. Was this our chance to end their seemingly eternal victory?

"First," Dumbledore began, "for the best game of chess played in Hogwarts history, I award Ronald Weasley of Gryffindor fifty points!"

This time, it was the Gryffindor table that was cheering. Hermione, Harry, and I congratulated Ron, who we knew truly was a knight.

"Second," Dumbledore continued, "for using cool logic in the face of fire, I award Hermione Granger of Gryffindor fifty points!"

More hollers came from the Gryffindor table. Tears of joy threatened to spill from Hermione's eyes as we praised her.

Gryffindor was now at three hundred and forty points. We only needed one hundred and thirty-one more to make it past Slytherin's four hundred and seventy. But that's easier said than done.

Dumbledore raised his hand to silence us. "Third, for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Harry Potter of Gryffindor sixty points!"

Everyone at the Gryffindor table burst into applause, elated: we were just seventy points behind Slytherin now. Harry and I exchanged secret smiles, for only the two of us truly knew what happened in the dungeon that night.

Dumbledore raised a hand and the clapping died down. "There are all kinds of courage," he said with a wise tone. "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to your enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. And so, I would like to award Neville Longbottom of Gryffindor ten points!"

The Gryffindors howled with excitement as the four of us gave Neville very apologetic smiles.

In the midst of the celebrations, Harry remembered I hadn't received any points. "I'm sorry, Sadie," he apologized.

"It's fine," I mumbled. But that was a lie. Look, I don't know who Dumbledore thought he was, but I didn't nearly die for him to fail to recognize me. I cursed out Voldemort. He was _there._ Who gave this two hundred-year-old the right to pretend like I don't exist?

So, you might think I'm overreacting here, and you would be completely right. But I wanted my points, okay? Some part of me wouldn't rest until Draco experienced what it's like to lose. And I couldn't stand being overshadowed by my own friends.

Apparently, Dumbledore had had his hand up for a very long time, and we had all failed to notice. Once the hall fell silent once more, Dumbledore continued.

"Last, but certainly not least," he said, "although it takes a great deal of bravery to fight both your enemies and your friends, it takes a great deal more to fight your family."

Dumbledore grabbed my full attention with those words. About time, Professor.

"And so, for telling You-Know-Who to go—nevermind, I won't repeat that… but anyways, I would like to reward Sadie Silverwood of Gryffindor with seventy points!"

That's more like it.

Every house except Slytherin exploded into a standing ovation. We had put their winning streak to an end: four hundred and eighty to four hundred and seventy.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were congratulating me, but I was too dazed to clap. Seventy points. All to myself. I'm sure Voldemort never got seventy points in his time here, especially not for flipping himself off.

"What did you do?" asked Fred, who was sitting diagonally from me with George.

"Oh, just cursed Voldemort out twice," I said, smirking.

Fred seemed impressed with this. " _Twice_?"

"In two different languages."

"Are you mad?!" George added.

"Why do people keep asking me that?" I questioned, mostly to myself. "They already know the answer is yes."

Dumbledore's voice filled the hall again. "I believe this calls for a little change in decoration."

Red and gold overtook the green and black banners. The Slytherin crests were replaced with Gryffindor crests. And this time, it was Nick who was gloating to the Bloody Baron.

I felt as if I were walking on a cloud. I had just won something. People were cheering for me. I had made a difference, even if that difference didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. In that moment, I felt useful. Powerful.

I became even more overjoyed when I saw how crushed Draco looked. He was absolutely devastated. It filled me with determination.

Just when I thought that evening couldn't get any better, a glorious meal appeared on our table, even more impressive than the start-of-term feast. The scent of ham and turkey wafted through the air, making my stomach rumble. Platters of fish, pasta, meats, mashed potatoes, and every other wonderful food you could think of filled the table. As much as I wanted to devour the feast in front of me, there was other business to attend to. I had brought McGonagall's spare quill and Hagrid's teacup in the pockets of my robes, fully intending on returning them. Unfortunately, Hagrid hadn't come to join us for the feast, but McGonagall was at the High Table, giving me an opportunity to return her stolen possession. More unfortunately, Snape was right next to her, and he would definitely question why I had her quill. But McGonagall would defend me if that happened, right?

I got up from my seat and began walking towards the High Table. I took the quill out of my robes, relieved to see it was still in perfect condition. Nevertheless, I nervously twirled it in my hand, dreaming up all kind of worst-case scenarios.

 _What if Snape tries to get me expelled for stealing?_ I worried.

 _No, he'd have to go through Dumbledore and Dumbledore's on your side,_ I told myself, but the fear stayed prevalent in my head.

It wasn't until I reached the High Table that I realized I hadn't prepared what I was going to say. But I couldn't just stand against the wall rehearsing an apology under my breath. I'd have to wing it.

I approached McGonagall, who was eating her meal with much more poise than any of the other professors. "Um, hi, Professor." I held out the quill. "Here's your quill… Sorry for taking it and everything."

"Thank you, Silverwood," McGonagall said, taking the quill from my hand. "I trust you won't be stealing again anytime soon, correct?"

"Stealing?" Snape chimed in before I could respond. "I believe that violates multiple school rules."

"It's a mental illness," I explained hesitantly. "Kleptomania."

"Now you can't just go around making up words, Silverwood."

I clenched my fists. "I'm not—"

"You know, Minerva," Snape said, turning to McGonagall, "this would be the perfect time to deduct points. How about eleven—"

"We won the House Cup, okay?" I blurted. "Get over yourself already, you soggy waffle." Mortified at what I had just said, I quickly added a "have a nice summer" and sped off.

I could've sworn I heard Dumbledore say, "You heard her, Severus." I suppressed a smile.

As usual, the splendid desserts washed away all my worries. Pies enchanted to be whatever flavor the eater wanted appeared on golden plates. Mine always tasted like peach, sweeter every time. Alongside the pies were assortments of fruits, cookies, brownies, cake—you name it. And of course, they had ice cream of every flavor. I gladly helped myself to a scoop of salted caramel.

I tried to make the feast last as long as possible. Everything about it was perfect: winning the House Cup, the food, crushing Draco's dreams… I never wanted the fun to end. The thought of leaving Hogwarts was unbearable to me; after just nine months of being there, I almost forgot I had to go back to Malfoy Manor. A small part of me wanted to spend the summer at Hogwarts, but I didn't want to burden Dumbledore.

Luckily, I only had to stay at Malfoy Manor for three months, because I had passed into second year with flying colors—even in Potions. I was a bit disappointed about my Charms exam score, though: Hermione got a one hundred and fourteen percent, while I only got a one hundred and twelve.

"You guys have to come and stay this summer," Ron urged as we gathered our belongings. "I'll owl you."

"You have to visit me, too!" Hermione said. She pulled a sheet of parchment out of her bag, tore it into threes, and scribbled down her address on each before distributing the slips to us.

 _17 Heathgate, Golders Green, London_

"I don't think you'd want to visit Malfoy Manor," I said with a fake chuckle. "It's depressing there. But I'll write."

"Same here," Harry said.

"Oh, and you'll get to meet my parents at the train station!" Ron said, changing the subject.

"Right," I mumbled, remembering how he mentioned his parents weren't too fond of me. "Is it too much to wear my Weasley sweater? You know, to subconsciously win them over?"

"Trust me, you'll win them over without it," Ron assured me. "And yes, it's too much."

The next morning, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I said our goodbyes to the castle and made our way to the Hogwarts Express. But Hagrid stopped us to get in a last word.

"I'm gonna miss the four o' yeh," he said, sniffling. He pulled us all into a giant hug, nearly knocking the breath out of us.

"Don't worry, we'll be back next year," Harry assured him once he let us go.

"Yeah, we passed," Ron confirmed.

"Can' wait," Hagrid mumbled, his eyes watering.

"Neither can I," I said, remembering the teacup I took from him. Earlier, I had changed out of my robes and put the cup in my moleskin bag, knowing it wouldn't be damaged there.

"Teacup," I whispered to my bag, and sure enough, the white porcelain cup I had stolen months ago appeared in the palm of my hand. "Oh, and Hagrid," I started, "well, long story short, I kind of steal things when I'm upset—it's a mental illness, apparently—but anyway, when Ron and I were fighting in your hut, I kind of took your teacup, and I'm sorry…um, here." I handed him the teacup, and he took it with glee.

"That's where that wen'!" he exclaimed.

I noticed the teacup had a slight dent in its rim, and my remorse immediately doubled. "Oh, no, it's chipped…"

"Don' worry," Hagrid said, "that chip's bin there long as I can remember." He smiled. "Yeh better get on the train now. I'll be waitin' for yeh next year."

"Bye, Hagrid!" we shouted as we boarded the train.

The train ride went by all too quickly. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I shared a compartment and recalled the wonderful stories of the year over a package of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. We laughed at our petty fight and argued over who defeated the mountain troll—we all knew it was Ron, but Harry, Hermione, and I refused to swallow our pride and admit it. Of course, Snape became a popular topic of conversation, and we ultimately agreed that we still hated him despite the fact he was protecting Harry. He could've done a better job.

It felt like mere minutes had passed when we pulled into King's Cross. I gathered my belongings as slowly as possible, and when I couldn't stall anymore, I exited the train with Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

We found ourselves in the familiar platform nine and three-quarters. The platform was bustling with students from Hogwarts, and the sounds of laughter, trunks rolling, and owls chirping filled the air. A conductor waited by the brick wall, directing each student out in order to avoid too many people bursting out of a wall at once and confusing the Muggles on the other side.

I let Harry, Ron, Hermione, and some girl I didn't know exit the platform before me. I imagined Lucius's ice-cold glare of disapproval, pictured him Cruciating me over getting into Gryffindor… how could I face him?

" _You have to run at it with no fear in your mind, or else you'll crash,_ " Mrs. Weasley had told Harry at the beginning of September. I forced my fears of the Malfoys out of my mind as best as I could, and ran into the wall. Once I appeared back in the Muggle station, I didn't look around for Lucius; I wanted to stall seeing him as much as possible.

"Took you long enough," Hermione laughed once I caught up with her. She was standing with her parents, whom I recognized from Diagon Alley, and an older boy who showed great resemblance to Hermione. Her father was still sitting in that strange black chair with wheels.

"These are my parents, and my brother, Henry," Hermione said. She turned to her family. "This is my friend Sadie."

"Sadie Silverwood," I said with a polite smile. "Nice to meet you."

"'Silverwood,' that's the most wizard name I've ever heard," Henry replied. "Wait, are you the girl who gave Hermione those jelly beans?"

"Yeah, why?"

He glared at me. "She put all the tan ones in a jar and gave them to me." Hermione blushed and looked away. "She said you told her they were the best ones."

I laughed and turned to Hermione. "When I told you to give them to someone you hate, I meant a next-door neighbor with annoying dogs or something."

Hermione suppressed a smile. "Up to interpretation."

"We've heard so much about you," Mrs. Granger beamed.

"Good things, I promise," Hermione assured me.

"This is Hermione and Sadie," said Ron's voice. I turned to see him and his large family of gingers.

"Hi," I said timidly, remembering how Ron said his parents hated me. But they simply smiled back, a genuine smile.

"Busy year?" Mrs. Weasley asked us.

"Very," Hermione and I both said.

"Oh, and thank you for the sweater and the fudge, Mrs. Weasley," I added.

"Of course, dear."

Harry came to join our large social circle. "I don't want to leave," he mumbled to me.

"Wow, we have so much in common," I said.

"Right, you have to live with Malfoy," Harry grimaced. "I'm sorry." He noticed Ron's family. "Oh, um, thank you for the sweater and the fudge, Mrs. Weasley."

"It was nothing, dear," she replied.

"Ready, boy?"

A man with a ridiculous-looking lampshade mustache approached Harry, his face a bright red. A pale, overdressed woman and a blonde boy with a sneer on his face followed. I could tell from Harry's sullen expression that this was his aunt, uncle, and cousin, and I hated them already.

"You must be Harry's family," Mrs. Weasley said with a fake pleasant tone.

Vernon sighed. "Sure," he muttered. "Hurry, we haven't got all day." He nudged Harry with his elbow and strutted off, expecting Harry to follow.

"They seem delightful," I said sarcastically.

"Aren't they just?" Harry replied through gritted teeth. "I'll see you over the summer, then."

"Have a good holiday," Hermione said, staring at Harry's uncle with disgust.

"Oh, I will," Harry said with a smirk. "I'm going to have lots of fun with them this summer—they don't know we're not allowed to use magic at home. Oh, and Sadie, keep Malfoy miserable for me, okay?"

I grinned. "You bet."

Hiding a mischievous smile, he waved goodbye and caught up with his "family."

"You should give me your address, so I can write to you," Hermione suggested.

"But you haven't got an owl," I said.

"I know. I'll send it to your mailbox."

I furrowed my brow in confusion. "What's a mailbox?"

Hermione sighed. "Nevermind."

"What's Garlic Storm?" Henry asked, staring at my shirt. I bought it at their concert Manuel took me to on his holiday, one of my favorite memories.

"It's a highly underrated Irish band," I answered. "They're all vampires."

"You mean the highly underrated Irish band _Gaelic_ Storm?" Henry said, confused. "That's not made up of vampires?

"No, I'm pretty sure they're vampires—"

"Hey!" someone snapped. I didn't have to look to know it was Lucius. He grabbed me by the arm and turned me around, forcing me to face him. "What did I tell you about speaking to people of _their_ sort?" He nodded at Hermione and her family.

I wanted to stand up for them, or at least punch the smug look off of Lucius's face, but all that came out of my mouth was a weak, "Sorry, sir." I diverted eye contact.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him raise his right hand. I braced myself for what was going to come, but it never did.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" It was Ron's father, speaking through gritted teeth. I looked up to see him holding Lucius's hand by the wrist.

Lucius ripped his hand from Mr. Weasley's grip. "I think I have a right to keep my goddaughter in line, thank you very much."

Hermione's mother stepped forward with an expression of concern on her face. "Sadie, dear, do you want to come over to our house for dinner? We've, um, been looking forward to getting to know you."

"No, she does _not_ ," Lucius snapped. "Now come on, girl, I have places to be." He grabbed my wrist and pulled me away. I mouthed a quick "sorry" to Ron, Hermione, and their families.

"Sorry you had to see that," I whispered to Firefly, earning a glare from Lucius.

We met Narcissa on the other side of the platform. Draco was already with her.

"You could've left her with the Mudbloods, Father," he teased.

"I wish I did," Lucius muttered, and with a wave of his wand, we were back in the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor, the place I hated most.

I couldn't wait to go back to Hogwarts.


End file.
